Moving On
by sohypothetically
Summary: What happens to Peeta while Katniss is awaiting trial at the end of Mockingjay? How does he put himself back together? How does he end up back in District 12? Takes place before the Epilogue. Rating is T. May move to M due to some hijacking memories.
1. A Mockingjay Sings

**I do not own The Hunger Games. **

Peeta's POV

"What's happening to her?" I motion to Katniss, visible on the screen in Dr. Aurelius' office. Katniss is standing at her window and singing. She has been in the same position for hours, singing song after song.

"We aren't sure." Dr. Aurelius cocks his head inquisitively. "You know her better than anyone. What do you think is happening to her, Peeta?"

I snort derisively. "I know her better than anyone? Are we talking about mutt-Katniss or real-Katniss? Who knows what I know anymore?"

"I think we both know you have made great strides, despite everything. Trust your instincts. What do you see there?"

I turn toward the screen. They have her wearing some sort of paper-ish robe. The room is bare and her lunch tray sits mostly untouched. She has the look of someone on morphling – thin, with a vacant look to the eyes. Her voice, though, is completely present. It swells and dips, spreading over me with such tremendous emotion that is it like drowning in tears. My own throat closes up with grief for my family and friends…for all that I've lost. If she is a mutt, she is a siren-mutt. Her voice beckons me to give in to the grief and let it overwhelm me. How can anyone hear her singing hour after hour and not lose their mind?

I shake my head, letting tears fall. I do not know what she is becoming. I only know that she is _not_ a mutt, which means that what I hear is her very life pouring out of her. Every emotion she has never shown is right there in her voice. This sound, if I painted it, would be bold slashes of thick-textured color, gradually fading to dark blue-black at the edges.

One song ends and another begins. I recognize this one as _The Valley Song_. This is the song that made me fall in love with Katniss when she sang it on the first day of school. I don't remember it, although I did watch the replay of Katniss and I talking about it. I try to conjure something inside me, poking inside my mind like a bruise that I can't leave alone. Red dress. Two braids. Nothing. I close my eyes, feeling my tears drying on my cheeks.

Poke-poke at the bruise. I know this is what Dr. Aurelius wants: to watch me test my limits.

I open my eyes in frustration, ready to tell Dr. Aurelius that it's no use: no amount of poking is going to bring the memory back. I swing around to face him, and Katniss-on-screen becomes a blur of braided hair.

WHAM!

_I am 5 years old watching Katniss scramble up onto a stool in a blur of excitement, her red dress making her sleek braids look almost black. She doesn't even need help from the teacher at all, and it's a tall stool. I am amazed at her confidence both in climbing (she's a girl, and don't girls always need help climbing?) and because she is going to sing in front of the class (not for all the fresh cookies in my Dad's bakery would I do that!). She is standing very straight for a tiny little thing. I can feel something inside of me trying to make me fearful – as if the little girl is a threat. I beat it down and tell it to shush – I know this is important and I want to hear what comes next. She opens her mouth and the sound that comes out is so pure, so much bigger than her, that even the birds stop to listen. The part of me trying to make me afraid just shrivels up. I can feel my heart break open to let the sound inside. I cannot believe that this little girl in front of me is so fearless and so full of life. My heart pounds, my mouth goes dry, my fidgeting on my chair becomes less and less then stops completely. I am transfixed, even when she energetically climbs off the stool._

WHAM!

I am panting. My nails are digging into my palms and I can feel the sweat rolling down my face and soaking my back. Dr. Aurelius is looking at me with interest while an attendant stands next to him with a unused needle. Dr. Aurelius must have called him in when I started to zone out. "Peeta, was it the song that triggered your episode?"

I try to get my emotions under control. "Ye-es." I stutter. I sink to a chair. "This was different, though." I say breathlessly. He waits for me to explain. "She wasn't a mutt. Katniss wasn't a mutt and neither was I. I think…" I stop because I want this to be true so very badly…" I think this was a flashback of a real memory."


	2. Family Remembered

Peeta's POV

…" _I think this was a flashback of a real memory."_

I can hear my voice echoing in my head from two week ago. I know that Dr. Aurelius was pleased by the development – he leans back in his chair and thumps the right armrest when he gets excited about something. We have spent the last couple of weeks looking to activate what he calls "dead spots". They are the spots that the Capitol identified as weak spots but could not find a way to turn against me. Instead, they were wiped clean. It's like when I get an itch of my prosthetic leg: I know it's not actually a real itch, but I swear the feeling of skin and the need to scratch it is so intense that it might as well be.

Rediscovering memories is intense and it's exhausting. I want to run around and reactivate as many as I can as fast as I can because I thought they were gone forever. They bring me back to myself. They even bring my family back to me.

_I am in the bakery with my Mom. I know some of my friends call her "the Witch". I am often afraid of her. It's 4 pm and it must be a hundred degrees in the back by the ovens. My Dad lets me work up front and remembers to give me water to drink so that I don't pass out from the heat. He's nowhere in the bakery, though, and my Mom is mad at me for something. She is yelling that I have stolen fresh cookies to give to my friends. We are strictly forbidden to take any fresh merchandise from the bakery. I have no good defense, especially when I am almost positive I saw my Dad give a cookie each to a little blonde girl and her sister who were looking at the cakes earlier. _

_She starts chasing me through the bakery. I am smaller than she is at 10, but not very fast. She has a rolling pin and is pointing at me and calling me a thief. I can feel my pounding heart and twisting gut. I want to hide from her. I round the corner near the ovens and squeeze between them, burning my hand. I scoot further back into the gap. She screeches at the top of her lungs that she is coming for me. She can see me between the ovens now. It is hot, so hot between them that the sweat is rolling down my arms, soaking my shirt. My hand throbs in a fast echo of my heartbeat and I cradle it next to my chest. My throat is dry. I can neither cry nor speak. She stops in front of my hiding space and reaches into the gap, waving her rolling pin wildly. She connects with me a couple of times in the confined space but the sides of the ovens stop her from gaining truly punishing momentum._

_I don't move, even when she has to back up front to help customers. I am so scared I sink as close to the floor as I can get and as far away from the opening as I can. I must pass out from fear and the heat._

_I come to when my Dad pulls me out and wipes my face with a cool washcloth. I am not hydrated enough for tears, but he stays with me until the dry sobs and retching pass._

After that memory surfaces, I dream of it. In the dream, my Mom morphs into Katniss and the rolling pin becomes an arrow. My Dad still rescues me from her, but he morphs into President Snow, who isn't using a washcloth, but is hosing me down with water so he can use electric shocks.

I wake up with a jolt, stumble into the bathroom and gulp glass after glass of water.

The next day, I half-jokingly tell Dr. Aurelius that I am glad my Mother is in my nightmares. Compared to Snow, she is pretty tame.

I am so busy finding lost memories – and I am becoming more and more certain that the constant exposure to the Capitol is what is triggering more and more gaps to fill in - that we barely have time to talk about Katniss or her trial. I've caught bits and pieces of it on the news and they are really doing a number on her – making her out to be some sort of nut who didn't really know what she was doing when she shot Coin.

I think back to the events of that day: how she stared at the rose on the table during that awful Hunger Games redux vote like she was figuring out the secret to life and death. How she took her time and would not look at anyone's face while she cast her vote ("Yes – for Prim"). How she met Haymitch's eyes steadily for the 5 of my angry heartbeats before he also cast his "yes" vote. The whole time, Haymitch couldn't take his eyes off of her either, just knowing something was going on. I saw her face when she made the shot and I was there to stop her from taking her Nightlock.

Whatever was going through her head, she was not nuts.


	3. A Chance Encounter

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

**I'm a little disappointed with this particular Chapter. Let me know what you think…..**

Peeta's POV

I'm riding the happy wave that comes from I no longer need to be sedated whenever something triggers for me; in the Capitol, triggers happen almost every day, so I am awake and "myself" all day. It's a step toward normal. I am almost swaggering down the hallway (try _that _with a prosthetic leg!) on my way to a session with Dr. Aurelius and I bump, quite literally, into Effie Trinket. "Ah, Effie, please excuse me." I grasp her shoulders for balance to keep both of us from falling over.

"Hello, Peeta." Her voice is chirpy, yet almost devoid of emotion. Her face is slack and heavily medicated. Most disturbing are her eyes: they are completely empty. It's like she is a vacant shell with a voice box. I gently let go of her thin shoulders.

"Effie, are you alright?" I am concerned for her. It's been weeks since the day Coin was shot and I first saw Effie back in the Capitol. Shouldn't she be getting better by now? Perhaps she has been visiting Dr. Aurelius and I am not his only famous patient – scary thought. I'm not sure if Dr. Aurelius is looking for that notoriety or just lucked out.

"Keeping busy, Peeta. Every day is a big, big day here in the Capitol." Her enunciation is perfect yet she seems held together mostly through medication and willpower.

"Ok, well, it was nice seeing you. Take care." I wave at her and walk away. When I reach the end of the hall, I look back to see her still standing in the same spot and vacantly staring at where I was standing. Effie is definitely **not** alright. And just that quickly, my swagger turns to more tentative shuffle.

"_Dr_. Aurelius, can we talk for a minute about your testimony at Katniss's the trial?" I'm sitting pretty comfortably in the chair across from him. He's gotten comfortable enough; thanks to my repeated triggers and newly found memories (and my ability to stop myself from harming anyone when they overtake me) that he no longer requires an attendant in the room.

I'm pretty stoked that we have hit that milestone.

"Peeta, you know I can't discuss Katniss as a patient with you." I hear the censure in his voice.

"I've seen the news. I've heard some of your testimony. Can't I ask where it's coming from?" I hope I sound mature and reasonable.

"I don't think it's a good idea to discuss it. We're here to work on you and your development. "

"You have said yourself that she is the key to a lot of my development. I have so many questions that only she can still answer….Do you really think she's crazy?" Stay reasonable. Rational. My palms are sweating, but my voice is even. "I am asking because…well…she might not be able to give me answers if she isn't…um…all there…" I meet his eyes. I hold them for a full 3 beats before I chicken out and drop my gaze. He knows that I am not thinking of answers for myself, but concern for her.

"Peeta, I know that you still care about her and that this is very confusing for you. Tell me… do you think that she is in her right mind?" Sometimes I hate it when he sounds so patient.

"I need her to remember enough of what happened for both of us. She owes me that." I know I sound more assertive and in control if I come across as selfish. I hate it, though. When it comes to Katniss, selfishness is just not part of my equation. What I am really looking for is his motivation behind what feels like a betrayal of her. She is not the things they have been labeling her, I know it.

"Your treatment is coming along nicely without her input. You do not _**need her to remember for you.**_You should be proud of how far you have come in such a short time." Dr. Aurelius states this calmly.

I look at my hands and clench and unclench my fists. How do I confront my doctor? He's helped me so much. For once, I get Katniss's idea of owing someone so much that it cannot be repaid. Yet I owe Katniss so much more.

"Look, I just bumped into Effie Trinket. Using her as a barometer, I would say that Katniss was lucid when she came out of the burn unit to shoot Snow. I don't think you would have given her the bow and even a single shot if you didn't think she was coherent. Katniss is not a piece in your Games. Is she all of the things you are saying or is there something else going on?"

Dr. Aurelius sits in his chair stroking his chin with his fingers. He finally rests his chin on the triangle formed by both index fingers and meets my eyes steadily. "Ah, Peeta. We so often forget how bright and determined you are. I think you should talk to Haymitch. He can, perhaps, fill in some of your gaps." There is a pause as I lock eyes with him, trying to draw out more. "Now, perhaps we pick up from our last session and you talk to me a bit about your Mother…."


	4. Haymitch's Plan

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

Peeta's POV

Haymitch staggers a little as he answers the door, leaning heavily against it. "They let you out for a visit? Or is it girl trouble?" I can't tell if he's being snide or that's his way of saying that he is glad to see me.

"Good to see you too, Haymitch." I side-step him and make my way into his living quarters: the place is a pig-sty. Actually, the pigs might take offense to the stench of sweaty clothing, alcohol, and half eaten food that permeate the place. "How can you live like this?" I shake my head.

"No one bothers me for interviews with a place this disgusting." I hadn't thought of that angle – he has a point.

I sit gingerly on a chair covered in dirty laundry and open my mouth to ask him about Katniss but no sound comes out. I clear my throat and try again. "Haymitch….um… what they are saying. At the trial. Is it true?" It comes out all stilted, but at least I get it out.

He laughs dryly. "You mean that she's crazy as a rabid dog?" He picks up a bottle and takes a swallow.

I wince. "Yeah. She was there…uh…mentally… when we voted on The Games. You guys even had one of your silent conversations where no one but the two of you even get what's happening! I saw her when she made the shot: she was completely there. But then…the singing….So..is…is she still in there?" I tense up like a spring, waiting for an answer that scares me. That singing has become the soundtrack of some of my nightmares.

Haymitch leans forward in his chair and suddenly looks remarkably sober. "Boy, I could ask you the same question. Are you, mentally, here with me right now?"

I'm puzzled. "Yes."

"What do you think Dr. Aurelius or Plutarch would say about _you_ if this were your trial?"

"I wouldn't have shot Snow. He made sure that I was programmed to not be a threat to him…."

"But if you did shoot him or Coin. What would we say about you?" His eyes are piercing. I feel like they are trying to tell me something.

"I don't know. Probably talk about how damaged I am. How I was used by Snow and Katniss. How I had so much hatred inside that I couldn't contain it. Talk about the death of my family." I snort wryly. "Maybe even bring up my Mom."

"Right. And would those things be true?"

"Yes." My voice is soft and thick with unshed tears. I look down at my hands.

"Would you say there is more to you than those things? Are you still Peeta inside there?" He points a finger somewhat shakily at my chest.

"Yes." I believe I've kept my identity mostly intact, despite the Games we've been playing. Could she be doing the same? I think of the girl who sang _The Valley Song _and who couldn't meet my eyes even on the day of the Hunger Games vote. The very same girl risked her life and kept me alive when it would have been easier to kill me, when I was losing control on the final mission to find Snow in the Capital. She is in there. She is.

Then why testify that she is gone? _Because we are still in the Game. _My stomach suddenly drops to the floor. I feel like I can barely breathe. My voice, when it comes out, is a low growl. "They can't kill her, can they? Even if they believe it is justified because of Coin's assassination, they can't put the Mockingjay to death. They need to neutralize her in some way…some way that won't cause more panic and won't push sympathy away from the new government. **She still has no idea the effect she can have.**"

A flash of sympathy and understanding passes through Haymitch's eyes and is gone in a second. He laughs, "Boy, does Dr. Aurelius know how paranoid you are? I'm sure he has some great meds for that."

I ignore his joke. "What are they going to do to her?" When his eyes flit away from mine, I find myself standing in front of him and grabbing his shoulders. "What are they going to do to her?" I repeat, enunciating each and every word slowly.

He staggers to his feet and pushes me to the side so he can pass to a screen on the wall. He touches a button and we are suddenly looking at Katniss. She is lying in a fetal position on her bed, completely still. She is emaciated – not even in my hi-jacked memory of the day I gave her bread is she this thin. Is she dead? My heart stops in my chest at the idea until I see the faint movement of her chest.

"She stopped singing a day ago and has been this way ever since. I don't think anyone is going to have to do anything to her. I think she's done it to herself."

"We've got to save her. We can't just let her give up…give up hope. What's your plan?" The screen is too painful to watch, so I turn to face Haymitch instead. I can't read the expression on his face. It's not lost on me that the channel the screen was tuned to her camera. Does he sit and watch it and brood about new ways to protect her? Does he watch it to punish himself?

"I don't have a plan. The verdict will be read and we will know more then."

"Haymitch….."

"No, Boy. You listen to me this time. You came to me before the Quell with almost the same speech, do you know that?" he smirks and says in a falsetto, "I love her so much. Promise me that we will get her out of there. I will protect her with my life, Haymitch." He almost sneers that last sentence. I promised you that we would protect her. I promised her that we would protect you. Look at where all three of us ended up! No more promises and no more plans and **no more Games**!" He gestures wildly with his hands, almost smacking the screen. "Now, the verdict has to come in soon. When it does, this will all be over and I am going home. I am going to get drunk every day until I barely remember what either of you look like. I am going to forget about Katniss believing her little sister was blown up by one of _her cousin's_ bombs and the fact that we almost voted in another Hunger Games. I am going to scrub the smell of roses from my skin once and for all and **move on. **I suggest you do the same."

He sinks back into his chair and takes another swig from the bottom. This one is actually quite long and ends with a belch.

I back up, almost tripping over half-empty bottles and laundry. _Her cousin's bombs. _Gale's bomb? Katniss thinks it was Gale that did that to Prim?

_I am back in the square in front of the President's mansion. I can see the children penned in with barricades. They are huddling together for warmth, some of them. I see Katniss loping toward them, her hunter's gait making her light on her feet. Her face is alight with purpose and she looks fierce in her Mockingjay suit. She halts suddenly when the hovercraft appears and the sky fills with silver parachutes. I can clearly hear the delight of the children as they reach for the gifts. Some of them are laughing. I just have time to think that those parachutes don't belong here, on this day and in this place, when the first set of bombs goes off, littering the area with carnage. I can smell the blood and I see horror on her face, knowing it is reflected on mine. I feel the tracker-jacker venom trying to trigger something. Katniss is here and this is all her fault. She must be stopped before there is more death! I fight it, digging my nails into my palms. _

_I see her turn toward the rescue workers, especially following a blonde braid as it whizzes past her to the injured children. I feel myself running toward Katniss, even as I hear her yell Prim's name and begin running toward her. Prim turns toward the sound. I see, as if in slow motion, a flash of fire and then a burst of flame as Prim explodes into a thousand points of light – a flame that threatens to consume Katniss. I feel the heat on my face now as I tackle Katniss to the earth, the flames around us burning brighter and brighter until all goes dark._

I blink twice and stagger my way to the front door. I hear myself say goodbye to Haymitch and let myself out. He doesn't respond.

I have to find Gale. Did he do that to Prim? Does he know that Katniss believes he did? Is that why he didn't respond when Katniss called out to him after shooting Snow? Is he going to abandon her when the verdict is read or will he fight for her?

I am at the street before I realize the other thing Haymitch was trying to tell me. He said that the verdict will be read soon, and that he just wanted to go home. I know he will never leave her to her punishment alone. No matter what, he will look out for her. That means that Katniss is going home to District 12.


	5. A Career Move

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

Peeta's POV

"Peeta, what are you doin…" I cut him off.

"Did you do that to her?" I push Gale through his door and pin him up against a wall. Gale is taller than I am, but those years of wrestling team and keeping my brothers from pummeling me pay off. The element of surprise, and a good amount of rage, doesn't hurt either.

"Huh? Who?" Gale would sound perplexed if he was able to breathe more easily.

"Prim." I push him hard again for emphasis. He gets his arms around mine and is able to break the lock I have on his shoulders and throat. He shoves me off and stumble, almost landing on my backside on his floor. Which I notice is littered with piles of clean clothes, toiletries and suitcases.

"Dammit, Mellark!" Gale rubs his shoulder and neck while he shoots me a glare. "Did Katniss come running to you with a story about Prim?"

I shake my head. "Katniss isn't running anywhere these days." I think of her lying so still on her bed. "The bomb. Was it yours? I heard…." He closes his eyes and leans his head against the wall. His reaction is enough to me sick to my stomach and I swear I can see the blinding light as Prim explodes behind my eyelids.

"I don't know. It could have been." His eyes are still closed, like he wants to deny it. "Beetee and I talked to Paylor. We're pretty sure that the hovercraft came on Coin's orders."

All the fight goes out of me. "She trusted you."

Gale's eyes snap open. There's a lot of heat in his voice when he says, "She trusted you too. At least I didn't try to strangle her to death!"

I shake my head. "It's worse. Katniss trusted you to take care of her family. She didn't care whether she lived or died as long as her family was safe."

"You have no idea what it was like when the bomb's came to 12. I did what I thought was necessary to strike back at the people who had done that to our families." Each word is a punch meant to hurt me. We stare tensely at each other for a minute.

I gesture around me to the stuff on the floor. "What's with all the luggage? You leaving?"

"Yeah. I'm going to recruit and train Peacekeepers in 2." _He's got to be kidding._

"You're leaving Katniss? To go be a _Career_?"

Gale sounds exasperated now. "Peeta, you and Katniss have to stop putting everything into Hunger Games Games are over! President Paylor gave me the position as a reward for helping the rebellion through to the end. The pay is great, and it beats going down in a coal mine." I think what he really means is it's a reward for watching over the Mockingjay and keeping her in line until the end – and he was successful up until the day of the shooting. The position comes with the added bonus of not going back to Districts 12 or 13. It's about as far as you can get from those districts without staying in the Capitol.

"Have you seen her since…?"

"No. We fought that day about the bomb." That certainly explains why he didn't come to her rescue during the shooting. "There isn't much point now. She's done with me."

"Gale, she needs you right now. She loves you. You should stay through this and help her through it."

"She loves me?" Gale laughs without joy. "I told you – don't believe that for a second. I saw how she kissed you in the Quell. She never came close to kissing me like that." He looks at the floor and says more quietly, "Shouldn't she be willing to forgive me if she loves me?"

"Gale…."

"No." He shakes his head and looks at me again, "I'm done protecting her: she didn't shoot me when I was captured in the Capitol by peacekeepers. I don't owe her anything. Or maybe I owe her too much….because of what happened with Prim. Either way, it can't be fixed. I have to think of my family and move on." The unspoken words are there too: _we both know Katniss isn't the forgiving kind._

I can't believe he's written her off. I use his words back against him, "I never would have believed that they replaced you with an evil-mutt version of yourself."

Again, the mirthless laugh comes from Gale. "Dough Boy, I was never the selfless one. I realize your memory isn't what it used to be, so maybe you should check out the replay of the Quell to refresh it and you can see what I mean. Oh, and look me up if you ever make it to 2." I am dismissed.

I let myself out. Dough Boy? Suddenly I am laughing. Dough Boy? That's supposed to be an insult, after everything I've been through?

Gale is going to 2 as a hero of the new state. Katniss is going home sometime soon. And me? Where am I going?


	6. Tea and Cookies

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

**I'm sorry if this is taking too long to get to the romance part… I swear it's in the plan! I might have to split the story into two parts, though… so there may be less romance in this part than in the next. I hope that isn't too disappointing. **

Peeta's POV

I'm on my way to my normal session with Dr. Aurelius when I'm stopped by two men in rebel military dress. Anyone in that sort of uniform automatically makes me wary. "Mr. Mellark, please come with us." They let me know that Dr. Aurelius has already been informed that I will be detained.

I don't like the word "detained"; it brings back bad memories of the last time I was a guest of the Capitol.

We end up at the President's mansion and I am shown into a nice office and told to wait. A woman comes in and asks me if I would like tea. I take that as a good sign that I am not about to be drugged or tortured, but still refuse the offer. I'm wandering around the office looking at various books and knickknacks because I am too freaked out to sit still when I hear the door open behind me.

"Hello, Peeta." President Paylor says. She looks tired, although less so that the last time I saw her. I wonder if anyone is ever going to get a decent night's sleep ever again. I acknowledge her with a formal and cautious nod. She motions for me to sit, so I sit close enough to the edge of the chair that I could make a hasty run for the door if needed.

"Did you hear the verdict today? " Katniss' trial ended today. I heard that she was found mentally incompetent.

"Yeah. I heard that she…" I take a deep breath, "Was not in her right might at the time of the shooting." It comes out like a sigh.

Paylor nods. "We're sending her back to 12 in Haymitch Abernathy's custody." I smirk at the idea of Haymitch being the responsible one where Katniss is concerned. I know that he was sober through most of his time in 13, and he certainly got us out of the arenas alive, but real life is not his strong suit. Paylor misinterprets my smirk. "Peeta, she will be safe there, even if we have to keep her safe from herself."

"You believe the trial verdict?" I'm staring at her, trying to get a read on her facial expression. I do not know Paylor well except that she is now in a position of power with the power of life and death over me and everyone I care about – just like Coin and Snow. Is she going to set Katniss up? Maybe the crazy girl with the drunk for a warden has an accident? Or is she sincere?

"I know she was under tremendous stress in District 13. Then the Capitol mission, then the parachute bombs and being burned herself. It would be enough to break anyone. She is familiar with 12. She will be near the woods and can hunt if she likes. We will continue to provide Victor's pay stipends as part of the Mockingjay deal and Dr. Aurelius has agreed to continue to treat her via phone. She can heal safely and at her own pace, I promise." She seems genuine as she talks about Katniss. Respectful. Warm, even.

"You can't promise safety." I know too well how quickly things can change, especially when your own mind can turn against you. I think of Katniss huddled and unmoving on that mattress. That girl had no safety and no hope.

"I am the only person who can come close to fulfilling that promise. And after all, I am in this position because of Katniss, aren't I?" Her brown eyes are very direct. "Speaking of safety and healing…. How are you doing? Dr. Aurelius tells me you are doing remarkably well."

"I didn't realize that Panem's President was interested in my status." I sit back a little more comfortably in my chair. I know it sounds defensive. Really, I am more interested in why she would care. I would think that putting this damaged country back together is more important than a damaged boy.

She reads my intent pretty clearly, "I am here indirectly because of you too. You've done some very brave things for Panem. Why wouldn't I be interested in keeping an eye on your progress?" The door opens and the same woman who asked before comes back into the office carrying a tea tray. Paylor pauses and pours. She asks me if I want sugar and I decline, then passes me a cup and saucer and two cookies. The dainty teacup makes me feel ridiculously like I am playing dress-up at a little girl's tea party. I take a bite of a cookie just to have something to do: mine are better.

"None of this is really why I asked you here, though." Oh good, she is finally going to get to the point. I dunk the cookie in my tea and take another bite. Dunking was the only way the stale cookies that we were allowed as a treat once in a while were palatable. It reminds me of home.

"Plutarch thought it was a good idea – what with me being the President and all. And I… well… I'm intrigued by the idea…" She looks a little nervous. I put my cup down on the saucer with a tink! This woman has been through a lot and anything that makes this woman nervous can't be a good thing.

"Peeta, will you paint my portrait?" I sit and stare at her uncomprehendingly. "You know, memorialize me in an officially commissioned painting?" Still, I stare. "Plutarch thought it was a great idea to have you do it. If you don't feel up to it…Dr. Aurelius thought you might like the opportunity to paint again…." It's obvious that she can't tell what to think from my reaction. I close my mouth and gingerly place the teacup and saucer on the table between us before I drop them. I hold up a finger to stop her speech.

"You want me to _paint_ you." She actually blushes a little bit. "In like a chair or behind your desk or something?"

"Well, um…however you normally do it. You would get to decide on the setting: complete artistic control. As long as it's not nude." This last bit is meant as a joke. She laughs at it herself and it's obviously meant to put me at ease. I chuckle to let her know that I'm past the initial shock. I'm not really sure what Plutarch's motive is with this suggestion and I am a little concerned that there might be more than meets the eye going on. I decide to act like I am completely open to the idea since it's not like I have much choice anyway: she is the President. If she wants to "detain" me instead of asking, she can certainly do so.

"Ok." I shrug. "I haven't done formal stuff like that. I haven't painted anything since before the Quell. If you're willing to take a chance on the fact that it might be horrible, I am willing to try." It hadn't dawned on me to ask for paint supplies during my last couple of months of recovery. District 13 didn't have supplies like that on hand (and would have been stingy about parsing them out to me if they had) so I don't even know if Snow took that talent away from me. The idea of exploring what used to be so cathartic for me is very appealing.

When President Paylor holds out her hand, I shake it. We're both smiling.


	7. Painting a Picture

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

**I'm floored that so many people have put this story on Alert and/or Favorited it. I've only got 4 reviews, though….if you have opinions on it, please tell me what you liked and what isn't working for you. Thanks!**

Peeta's POV

My first session with President Paylor is today: I'm a little nervous. Dr. Aurelius and I both think it will be great to start painting again. I assume that I'll have some rough patches getting back in the groove of it since I haven't held a paintbrush in so long. Even the frosting for Annie and Finnick's wedding was months ago.

Annie and Finnick's wedding: that wedding gave me the cake that started me on the path back to myself. It was also the first time I saw Katniss without attacking her. I wince when I remember the conversation because I was horrible to her. The worst part of it was my distrust of her and the coldly assessing way I dismissed her meaning in my life. My next meeting with her wasn't much better and I recall being cold and out of line with Finnick too. All of this makes me sigh when I remember that I never thanked him for saving my life in the Quell or for giving me the rope that saved my sanity so many nights in 13. I'll never get to thank him, or repay him.

I sigh again. It's probably best not to think about Finnick right now: his memories are tied to a lot of emotion and the risk of a hijacking episode is too high. Somehow I don't think that losing control is the impression I want to make with the new President.

We meet back at the mansion. I get ushered into a room that has a sketchpad on a table with some charcoal pencils, big windows that let in a lot of light, and assorted paints and canvases stacked to one side. There is a big red chair and a stool in front an easel that is already prepared. There is nowhere else to sit. Whomever sets up the space doesn't paint – at least not like I do. I rub the back of my neck because this may get awkward.

Paylor walks in. She looks tired as usual. I am beginning to understand that this is her normal look. Perhaps she had a different look before the rebellion? We have all changed so much that the before parts of our lives seem forever ago. I wonder if she even remembers that part of her life. She sees the red chair, walks toward it and sits down. She looks as uncomfortable as I feel.

"Am I supposed to sit here?" She gestures around her to the chair.

"Uh…." I rub my neck again. "I'm not sure how this is going to work. Do you mind if I just…uh…take a look at you?" It feels so awkward to be eyeballing someone I don't know very well. I am really used to painting (or frosting) what I know pretty well or see every day. Paylor is a total stranger and that makes this feel odd - less like art and more like the science experiments in school.

I walk around her for five or ten minutes, checking out the light and her hair and skin. She's dark eyed and dark haired – not what I am used to from District 12. The red chair looks good with her hair and eye combination, although it does highlight the scar on her neck. Her dark blue outfit, though, does nothing but highlight the dark circles under eyes.

I sit down on the stool and pull out the sketch pad, making a quick sketch of her just to see if I can. It comes out ok – all of the mechanics are fine, but the soul of the drawing is missing. I sigh heavily and reiterate, "I'm not sure this is going to work. I need to know you a little better in order to really…" I gesture to the pad, "make this real." I think for a minute. "I have an idea: what if I shadow you during the day for a couple of hours so that I can get to see you in your normal environment. Facial expressions and reactions that aren't posed would really help me."

Paylor looks thoughtful. "You mean, just follow me around? That would help?"

"Yeah. I think it would help me to get a feel for who you are and what you like to do, what your normal expressions are, posture…that sort of thing."

She looks relieved to not be stuck under the microscope for hours on end and agrees to have her assistant schedule something out.

Our time is almost up, so I ask her if she minds if I stick around and play with some of the paint. I feel like I should start mixing skin tones just to test some things out. I spend the rest of the afternoon testing out all sorts of paints, color combinations, you name it. It's such a relief to lose myself in color again that it takes me hours to realize that I feel happy. I realize I haven't felt this way in months, maybe even since before the Quell was announced.

My days fall into a new pattern: shadow the President two hours or so, paint for a bit, then Dr. Aurelius. Most afternoons I try to call Haymitch to check in on him and Katniss. Dr. Aurelius hasn't been able to get in touch with her and it makes both of us nervous. What's going on over there in 12? Dr. Aurelius assures me they have hired someone to go in and at least feed her. That's one less thing for me to worry about, although that image of her bony frame on the bed sticks with me in my nightmares.

Walking around with Paylor, I'm learning a great deal about the new government of Panem. I can't recall details about the workings of the old government from History class and I almost wish that I had paid more attention. They call this type of government "democratic". Each district has a representative that comes from the district to meet with Paylor for 1 week a month. All of the representatives live in their Districts and not in the Capitol, so they can uniquely represent the needs of their District. District 13 is represented as well.

I wonder how the people from 13 feel about all that has happened.

I am allowed into some of the rebuilding planning sessions. That's where I find out that the mines in 12 are closed for good and that they will break ground on a factory there that will make medicine. It's still one of the smallest districts, so the idea is to rebuild by drawing some folks there from other districts by offering jobs. Travel between the districts is allowed, although controlled because of the threat of further violence. Rebuilding of the Capitol is also set to begin during the summer. The areas where pod detonation occurred and property was destroyed (like the one where the street dropped away and people fell into the chasm) have been cordoned off for safety in preparation for construction.

There are many discussions about what to do with the Hunger Games arenas. Most of the group wants to leave them as-is because they are a revenue draw for the Capitol. They also serve as a reminder of the history of the Games so some of the delegates believe they will help prevent further, repeat, atrocities. Paylor asks for my opinion on this topic. I respond passionately that all of them should be considered massacre sites and not tourist attractions. I explain that children died in each of them and the sites should be something to be ashamed of, not revered.

I can feel the tell-tale signs of an imminent Track Jacker trigger when I describe how horrible it would be to know that there are people who visit the site where I almost died of blood poisoning or where Rue was speared in the stomach and died. There is no thrill to that, no making that a vacation destination. I finally have to excuse myself so I can ride out the anger and memories on my own. I spend all afternoon reliving both of my Games, fake memories and all, and eventually fall into a restless sleep.

Later I find out that they have agreed to tear down the arenas and build memorials in their stead. It feels like a victory.

I learn about Paylor too: how she talks with her hands in fast gestures when she is trying to make a point, or flips her hair over her should when she is really exasperated. Or how, when she is really angry, she rubs the scar on her neck until it is a bright pink. Everything about the new President speaks of purpose. She's younger than I would have thought, but those dark circles and her eyes speak of more than enough experience to do this job. I wonder what her life was like…before.

We're sitting in her office one afternoon drinking tea and suffering through those horrible cookies when I ask her, "What was your life like before the rebellion?"

"Before?" she laughs drily, "I don't even remember before."

"Well, what did you do for a living?"

"I was a teacher. And I worked in the textile mills for a few hours a day as well." She shrugs like it was no big deal." It was the only way to make enough money so we could eat." Ah. I think that begins to explain her familiarity with hunger and desperation.

"What about your family?"

"They're gone. They were gone before the rebellion started." She's not going to tell me more, I can tell from the closed look on her face and the steely determination in her eyes. I bet that even Caesar Flickerman could not get more out of her on that topic. Time to lighten it up.

"What did you do for fun?" Turn on a little Peeta-charm with that question….

"Fun?" She sounds like she doesn't even know the word.

"Yeah, you know. What did you do with your friends to blow off steam or to just have a good time? Sports? Read Watch old Hunger Games re-runs?"

"Peeta, there wasn't any time off. We worked after school. We worked during summer breaks. Some seasons we worked seven days straight for ten hours a day. Fun was getting a break where you could hear yourself think without the whir of a sewing machine or loom." From the tired look in her eyes I can tell she's not exaggerating. "We even had screens set up at work so that our mandatory viewing of the Games would be something we could do while working."

District 12 doesn't seem so bad, after all.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up such uncomfortable topics." I'm embarrassed and look down at my hands holding the cup and saucer. "I thought that I could get a feel for how you became who you are today."

"Someday maybe I can tell you the story of how I became a rebel. That's really what you're after, right?" Again, those frank brown eyes meet mine. I nod. That would be nice. I'm feeling more and more that it's necessary for me to understand that in order to paint who she is accurately. "It's got to be something that stays between us, though. No running and telling Plutarch or he'll want to put it up there for all of Panem." She smiles at me a little ironically. She knows that, if anyone is going to get what being an open book for all of Panem will do to a person, it's me.

"Deal. " I say this solemnly. If she wants to share something in confidence, I will respect it. I stand up to get ready to leave and notice her mostly uneaten plate. "By the way, those are the most horrible cookies in all of Panem."

She laughs. "You think so too?"

"Absolutely. What do you think about me working in your kitchen and actually making cookies people want to eat?"

The quickness of her response would embarrass the current baker. "Deal!"


	8. A Midnight Snack

**This was an emotional chapter to write. It's also much longer than my others. **

**If you have feedback, I would love to hear it!**

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

Peeta's POV

I've been haunting the President's mansion with almost all of my spare time. I've become enough of a fixture that the guards don't pay me much attention, even when my comings and goings are at the small hours of the morning. It doesn't hurt that I make treats just for them: most of the mansion is guarded by Paylor's soldiers from District 8. Judging from what she has told me and what I recall from visiting, I don't think they've had a lot of treats in their lives. Their reactions remind me a lot of the Seam kids.

They let me come and go as I please, pretty much.

Baking and painting again feel amazing. Whenever I have nightmares and can't sleep now, I make my way to the mansion and do one or the other. This is great because my nightmares have stepped up again. I'm not sure why: Dr. Aurelius hasn't changed my meds and we're pushing just as hard as before to break through my memories. It almost seems like, as my trigger events become more controllable, the nightmares become more intense. The upside is that I am producing enough baked goods to feed an army and even a couple of strong practice drawings of the President. The downside is that I'm feeling haggard and have less control when I trigger because I am so tired.

I'm sitting in the kitchen with my head on the counter, dragging swirls in leftover frosting on the counter._"…Frosting, the last defense of the dying." _I can hear Katniss' voice in my head. The smell reminds me of baking with my Dad in 12 back before this all happened and things were simpler.

I make primrose cookies a lot – they have become a signature treat of mine here in the Capitol. Paylor and the guards seem to like them. We even give them out to some of the planning sessions and other Presidential events. Whenever the delegates come to the city, I make sure they have some to take home to their Districts. I hear that now the design is being copied in some of them. I make them as pretty as possible for Prim and to keep my heart from breaking when I think of all that is lost.

Prim, with her smiling face pressed up against the glass of the bakery window looking at the cakes. Prim motioning to Katniss, who could not have cared less about frosting, when Prim saw one that she particularly liked. My Dad's eyes following Prim as she skipped through town. The day after the bread incident, Prim's thin body tucked next to her equally thin sister as they made their way home from school. Prim's cool hands smoothing my forehead and administering medication during my time in 13. Prim's calm voice telling me to hang on, that I'm alive. Prim dancing with Katniss at Finnick and Annie's wedding. Prim igniting in a fireball.

If the mockingjay is the symbol of the rebellion, I think that is it is somehow right for a primrose to be the symbol of our rebirth. I hear the echo of Katniss' voice in my head, _"I vote yes….for Prim."_

I'm half asleep in the dim light of the kitchen and my head feels too tired to move. I'm exhausted and am too tired to cry the tears behind my eyelids.

"Peeta you're still here? It's really late."

I must be after midnight. I rouse myself from the counter and notice that she is still dressed in a blue suit. I bet she can't sleep either. "Yeah. Sorry. I was just finishing up." I bunch up the waxed paper with the frosting all over it and throw it out. "Can I get you anything on my way out?"

"I was just going to warm up some milk. Want to join me?" She pulls up a stool to the counter.

"Sure. I'll get it." I heat some milk with a little honey and spices in it – the way they prepare it in the Capitol. The smell is comforting. I sip mine while I stand in front of the sink. A comfortable quiet descends on the kitchen.

She finally breaks the silence and starts to speak quietly. "I grew up like everyone else in 8; nothing special about me at all. I didn't get reaped. I wasn't particularly close to anyone who was reaped. I worked in the factory after school like all of my friends. Going from school to the factory was something we all did – it was like going to another class. Sometimes the hours were so long that we were too tired to be hungry when we got home and would fall right into bed. I would sleep so soundly on those nights – my Mother used to say I was sleeping like the dead." A ghost of a smile crosses her face. "We were always tired. The work wasn't particularly hard, but the longer someone worked, the sloppier they got and the more likely that an industrial accident would occur. Accidents weren't all that uncommon."

She finally looks up from her cup. "The first time I saw an accident, I was 9. One of the girls from my class at school was working a shuttle on a loom. Do you know how that works?" I shake my head. We don't weave in 12 and don't teach about much besides coal production in school there. "There's this huge loom with all of these strings running in parallel. The shuttle works crosswise to those strings and sends a string over and under and over and under, binding the threads into cloth. Industrial shuttles are heavy, at least five pounds, and tapered on the ends – looks a little like a hovercraft – so it's a little sharp where it tapers. If you push the shuttle fast enough, it flies across the strings and looks effortless."

"Children do shuttle work because it's easy – one of them is on each side of the loom and they push the shuttle back and forth like it's a ball. They train the kids to make it into a kind of game to see how fast they can push it back to their partner and so on. Helps them keep production numbers up that way." She falls silent and her eyes look far away.

"What happened?" My voice is quiet. I think of Rue, working in the fields, and of the careers, training to fight from birth. Was 12 the only District that didn't work their children like that? For sure our children don't go into the mines until they are 18. It's one of the things that makes us such weaklings in the Hunger Games – we don't have any skills or training until we're past reaping age.

"One of the girls wasn't paying attention. She missed when the shuttle came her way and it hit her in the head. She fell to the ground. There was no blood, but they took her away. The work day continued as usual. We found out later that she had a skull fracture, swelling, maybe brain damage. She wasn't able to work, so a bunch of families took up a collection to help her parents but it wasn't enough to cover her medications, care and keep everyone fed. They didn't know if or when she would recover. Her parents got thinner and thinner trying to feed their rest of the family. They must have reached some sort of decision because they brought her home from the hospital. A few months later, she was dead of starvation. They had made a choice to save their other children and themselves."

I'm rubbing my leg where it meets my prosthetic. It throbs and itches sometimes. Sometimes I do it when I get stressed or am really tired. I'm both right now as I recall a pair of desperate Seam-gray eyes in the rain so long ago, hollow from hunger and lack of hope.

She comes back to herself and the kitchen. I see the steel behind her exhaustion. "That was the start of it for me. I saw other accidents and there were other tragedies in my district. My life was pretty easy compared to most but that story and that family stayed with me growing up. At first I was mad at the family. Then I was mad at the foreman. Eventually, I was angry at Panem for making a system where such decisions had to be made."

"How did you get here?" I motion to the kitchen and the mansion.

She laughs drily. "I was a teacher. When the fighting started, I got the children and their families organized: supplies, quarters, that sort of thing. Some of the older kids wanted to fight and wouldn't take no for an answer - sound familiar?" I know she means Katniss and Gale so I laugh. She continues, "So I went with them and kept them supplied, fought for them to get guns, worked with them on tactics….many of us were injured in the battle of 8. That's how I ended up in the hospital that day and met the Mockingjay. If I hadn't followed her out of that hospital to fight the incoming bombers, I would be dead like all of the rest."

"Yeah, she has that effect sometimes: gives you a life that you never would have chosen for yourself."

Paylor laughs quietly. "You got that right." She pauses, looking down at her hands. "She brought down hovercraft that day. Bombers. With a bow and sheer guts. I watched her talking to people in the hospital and she was gracious and so obviously out of her element, "she laughs again, shaking her head at Katniss' discomfort. "But when the bombing started, there was this small girl just standing and taking shot after shot. I couldn't believe it. It was like she could singlehandedly hold off Snow's forces." I recall the reaction of the other tributes when Katniss was target shooting during training for the Quarter Quell and bringing down target after target…even five-at-a-time. Despite the hijacking, I remember being in awe of her. I'm so busy focusing on that memory that I almost miss Paylor's next statement.

…"I let her into Snow's apartment. I wanted her to find the truth."

"What?" What'd I miss?

"I let Katniss into see Snow that last day on purpose. I suspected that Coin was behind the hovercraft. Plutarch even confirmed as much for me when he told me that there was going to be a _finale to bring an expeditious end to the war_. I figured that Coin was going to use Prim against Katniss as leverage somehow. I hadn't counted on Coin placing her in the area of the most danger. The only person who could confirm that he hadn't done all of those things was Snow himself. So I let her in. I have no idea what he told her. Whatever it was… it was my fault."

"No. No it wasn't." I am adamant on this. I tell her about the Hunger Games vote and Katniss' reaction to it. Katniss was putting the pieces together herself: Gale's guilt, Coin's smugness and disregard for the lives of the Capitol children during the vote, Haymitch's support of her vote. A self-deprecating look crosses my face when I recount Prim's hypothesis that Snow was going to do to me whatever it took to break Katniss. "I guess it didn't work. And when it didn't…. Coin did one better with a new target."

"Prim." Paylor says, rubbing her face with her hands. She looks sad. Weary. "So many children lost in order to win this war. If it's the only thing I accomplish as President, we will stop harming children.." She sighs heavily.

"Is that why you didn't kill Katniss?" I'm pretty direct.

She seems stunned by my bluntness. "I couldn't kill her when I led her to Snow. I led her to the truth and then let events unfold. I feel responsible for not stopping Coin myself. It's also why I support what you've done with the cookies. Turning the flower into a symbol of the promise of things to come…very smart."

"You forgot _tasty_." I grin.

"They are that too." She climbs off her stool and puts her dishes in the sink.

As she walks away, I say, "I'm going to punch Plutarch if I ever see him again." I hear her laugh again.

She pauses as she reaches the doorway. "I'm not sure when you sleep, since you are here almost all the time. Why don't you just spend the night in one of the guest rooms and send someone for your things tomorrow? It's probably easier to just stay here than to walk the streets of the Capitol at 2 a.m. "

She doesn't wait for an answer. I end up heading back to my room and spending the rest of the night dreaming of children dying in unimaginable ways while I am unable to stop it.


	9. Painting Nightmares

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

**A.N.: Does writing Peeta make anyone else hungry?**

**Peeta's POV**

I'm explaining my nightmares and paintings to Dr. Aurelius who has come to see me in my studio at the President's mansion. Being in the President's Mansion gives me more time to paint since I don't have to go back and forth to my rooms. I walk him around the room, explaining some of the things that he sees. The obviously easy ones are the drawings of Paylor that I am using as my concept drawings for her portrait. I laughingly refer to the portrait as my "day job". I'm pleased with the way the drawings are coming along, but something is still missing. I promise myself that I'll spend some more time on the concept for her portrait after my session.

The harder ones to explain are the ones children. Rue lies in a green meadow, flowers around her sleeping form. Except I know it's no sleeping, she's dead. Prim is wreathed in flames, her braid blowing forward in the wind from the explosion. She wears a look of intense longing on her face as she reaches out for her sister. My brothers, who are wrestling with each other and pointing to a spot outside of the drawing while they laugh in that mocking and slightly cruel way that only older brothers can. My brothers who didn't even have a funeral. I think they are laughing at pointing at me.

"It seems like every night I see a parade of children in my dreams: Rue, Prim, Katniss, my brothers, the some children form the Capitol. I wake up screaming and know that I'll never get back to sleep until I paint them. So I come here and spend the rest of the night doing this," I motion to the canvases that are littered around the room.

"Peeta, do you have any idea why you would be dreaming about children?" Dr. Aurelius asks. It's hard to tell if he has an opinion of the images he sees around him. He doesn't let on much with his facial expressions.

"I don't know. These are dreams of sadness. They are violent, and there is death, that's true. But there aren't mutts in these dreams. They're not about children trying to kill other children. These are horrible things being done to the children without an obvious way to stop it." I scrub my face with my hand. I've been thinking about this for days. So many people died. Why these children?

"Do you feel responsible for their deaths?"

"Katniss isn't dead." I answer very quickly. It's the dream I dread the most: the slow-motion running as the fireball that incinerates Prim. In the dream, the fireball reaches out to Katniss and I know I cannot reach her in time. I run and run and feel the burning in my lungs as I try to pump my legs faster and faster. I wake up after I watch the flames consume her, her screams echoing in my head.

"Fair enough. What about your brothers?" Dr. Aurelius takes off his glasses and cleans them slowly. He appears to have all the time in the world.

"I don't know. Maybe it's guilt. Why am I still alive? I may be damaged, but I'm still here. And I was _supposed_ to die – in the Games and then again in the Quell. I was prepared to die." I stare down at the pencil I'm clutching in my fist. I say more quietly, "I wanted to die."

"When did you want to die, Peeta?" Dr. Aurelius gently pushes his glasses back on his nose. His eyes seem very piercing and I am trying to avoid them.

"When the Capitol took me. When I realized that I had tried to strangle Katniss in 13. When Coin dropped me in the Capitol with Katniss. When I didn't think I could reach her in time when the parachutes detonated." I think but do not say out loud – when she was laying there in her bed, unmoving. It should have been me. I close my eyes.

_I see Katniss's face very close to mine. The smell of roses and Finnick's blood is in the air. I am losing control and I want to kill her. She's the reason we're all dying – the reason the air smells like roses and blood. I can feel the muscles in my arms fight my handcuffs and I want nothing more than to let the anger rise up and snap her in two. I see red as I stare and her. She is so very close and my entire body goes rigid. I hear my blood raging through my veins as she kisses me. Her warm body is next to mine and the smell of her overpowers the roses and the blood. Her lips are softer that I expect on my clenched lips. We kiss for a long time and I feel the pounding of my pulse recede. She pulls away and says "Don't let him take you from me…stay with me." _

I come back to Dr. Aurelius watching quietly. "When President Snow had you tortured? You wished you had died then?"

"The torture was almost a relief. Every time I heard a scream – from Johanna or from Darius-the-Avox or any of the others that were there with me, I wanted to die. I wanted my heart to burst and I was hoping it was over. At least the torture helped me to block out their screams. Do you know what an Avox scream sounds like?" I do. I hear those screams many nights.

He doesn't answer. I know he's never heard those screams. "What about the children, Peeta? You said that you feel guilty and don't know why you are still here while those others aren't. If that is true, what can you do about that?"

I scrub my face again. I am so tired. "I don't know. Honor them by painting them? Bring them back to life in a painting or drawing. Or cookie." I think of Prim's cookies, being sold now in most of the districts. "Try to do…something…to make sure their sacrifice isn't for nothing. Carry them with me in my heart and try to live a good life for them." I know I'm not saying what I feel because it's just too big. My heart is just too full of tears when I think of those children. All thing things I'll never get to say to my brothers. Rue, whose death I didn't see except on the replay of the Games. A little girl in a yellow raincoat who gets caught in crossfire while we steal our way closer to Snow in the Capitol. I close my eyes but the images stay right there. I want to fall into the darkness that is fighting to take over my heart when I hear Katniss' voice again in my head, _"Stay with me…."_

"Peeta, do you still wish you were dead?"

I open my eyes. I look around me at the paintings and drawings and at the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows. "No."

"Several of those times when you did wish to be dead involved Katniss. If you were to see her again, do you think that you would wish harm upon yourself again?"

I think about that: a good portion of the circumstances where I wanted to die are tangled up with Katniss. If I am really honest, almost all of them tie into memories of her. I feel more centered now, but she isn't here to test out how strong I really am. I recall the feel of my hands on her throat: the horror and the triumph I felt. I shudder. Then I remember the day that Coin was shot: I felt pretty centered that day right up until I grabbed her to keep her away from her Nightlock. I was shaky then – a combination of too much adrenaline and fear. I am still not sure if I was afraid for her or afraid that she was going to kill all of us. I remember telling her that I couldn't let her go. _"Stay with me….' _I whispered in my head.

That was the last time I touched her.

Dr. Aurelius is expecting an answer. "I don't know. I'm stronger now. I think I still have more work to do, though." I don't voice the thoughts in my head – What if I am never strong enough? What if she never trusts me? What if I never trust myself? I'm not sure that being around Katniss is ever going to be possible.

Dr. Aurelius nods. "I think that is a safe answer, Peeta. You've done remarkably well - better than I could have hoped. I do think we have more work to do on your memories and your forward progress." He gets up and crosses to the door to my studio, "For our next session, I would like you to think about two things. One: what are you doing to honor those children and Two: what would those children forgiving you feel like?"

He walks out the door, not expecting an answer. I turn blindly to the light outside the window. I know my answer already because I know what forgiveness feels like: it's a warm pair of hands and soft lips on mine. I touch my lips as if I can feel that kiss. I hear the whisper in my head again,_"…Stay with me…." _

I feel a tear trickle wetly down my cheek and hide my face in my hands to block out the light when I hear my own voice answer in my head, _"Always…"_


	10. Negotiations

**I do not own The Hunger Games.**

**A.N.: Thank you to those of you who have taken the time to review. I thought this would be a little backstory to the love story back in District 12. Instead, it's turned into this and I have an outline for at about 5 more Chapters. Whew! If this is getting tiresome, can you let me know? **

Peeta's POV

I am really flying through Paylor's portrait. After penciling dozens of sketches of her, I elect to paint the President standing rather than sitting. I think it helps to convey her need to be in motion most of the time. She has one hand on the empty red chair, her right forefinger almost tapping impatiently on it, while the other is at her side. Her posture suggests anything but standing still. Her eyes look tired but lively and reflect intelligence with a glint of humor. Her mouth and chin are stern yet compassionate: like a school teacher who has caught a recalcitrant but rehabilitate-able child. Based on her background, I don't think that's too far off the mark.

I am getting ready to color in her blue suit and wondering if she wears any other color, when I hear a commotion in the hallway. It's the delegates from 7 and 11 and they are angry enough that their argument can be heard through the closed door of my studio.

"What's going on here?" I have to speak very loudly to be heard once I step into the hallway. The woman from 7 is an ugly shade of red when she turns to me. I take a step back, recalling how vicious Johanna could be. I hope that 7 doesn't have an ax on her.

"We're starving in 7. Starving. We need the crops from his district, but he", she jerks her thumb at the other delegate violently, "won't spare any."

"Spare any? We're selling those crops that we can spare so we can rebuild our district!" They glare at each other. I notice two guards rounding the corner, figuring they must have heard the ruckus.

"Let's go into my studio and talk about this." I motion to my doorway with a paint splattered hand. I'm sure they both notice the guards. I'm sure my offer is the lesser of two evils. "Ok. Let's start at the beginning. You both have names, yes?" I say after I have insisted they sit down.

"Tryna." 7 says.

"Ric." 11 says.

"I'm Peeta."

"We know." They say in unison. We all laugh a little. I wipe my hands on a rag and shake their hands.

"So what's going on? Tryna, you start." I pull up another stool. I'm genuinely curious.

"We're not able to find enough food in my District and are struggling. Folks are leaving. We have plenty of jobs, just not enough food. They've got food to spare. They grow it in 11, but they won't share it." She looks pretty upset still. I don't remember much about 7, except that they specialize in lumber and forestry. I smile to myself to think that Katniss could probably feed the whole district with that forest. I snap back to the present when Ric responds.

"That's not true," Ric says. We're trying to rebuild our District too. So we feed ourselves first, then we sell the excess." I do remember 11: Rue and Thresh and the shacks and endless fields. It didn't look like anyone there ever had enough to eat.

"How much excess is there? Enough to feed a district?" I ask.

Ric shrugs. "Enough to feed a smaller district. Maybe supplement a larger one." He crossed his legs. The Capitol pays a premium for peaches and our row crops. 7 can't afford that."

"A premium, you say? What are you doing with the money?" I can't imagine that the people I remember from the Victory Tour want to just roll in money once their bellies are full. Would Rue let another district starve while she remembered what it felt like to be hungry?

"We're rebuilding. After the rebellion, we're housing three or four families to a single home. Some families lost everything, so we're spreading the money around and getting them clothes, materials to rebuild houses, farming machinery. Everything. We're starting over."

I think of the rebuilding effort that must be happening in 12. "Tryna, do you have any other options for food? Can you buy it? Are there other districts that might be able to help?"

"We've shopped around to see if we can get food from other places. We are even buying some of the surplus from the Capitol. It makes sense that, if we're going to buy food from 11, we do it direct instead of waiting for it to get here, get beyond ripe so it can't be sold and then buy it to ship it back to our District. We're losing a quarter of everything we buy because it spoils. If we could just buy some food direct, we can probably buy more and get it to 7 before it spoils. But **he** won't make a deal."

Ric starts to interrupt. I hold my hand up, "Let me think for a second….. Ric, are you willing to try to come to some sort of agreement? There's nothing else holding you back if we can find a fair price?" Ric shakes his head; he's willing to deal with her."Tryna, what are you willing to pay?"

She looks uncomfortable. "Well, we can pay what we're paying to the Capitol per bushel. That's 100."

Ric scoffs at the price. "You're paying 100? No wonder you get food that's spoiled!"

I chime in, "Well, you wouldn't need to ship it as far as the Capitol. That's got to save you both time and a little money."

Ric counters with, "The Capitol pays us 200 a bushel. I can't sacrifice 100 a bushel, even with shipping costs being less. We're using that money to build homes for families and we need to be done before first frost. "

"That's it! Tryna, you said you have jobs. Jobs doing what?" I look at her expectantly. I think of that green, green forest.

"We fell trees and mill lumber." She looks confused, and then realizes where I am going with this. "We have lumber, and you're building homes!" she almost jumps out of her chair. "What if we paid you in materials or a combination of materials and money?"

Ric looks thoughtfully at Tryna. "That just might work." They grin at each other.

President Paylor walks in just as we're all shaking hands again to cement the deal. I now know how much lumber costs by the board foot in exchange for bushels of row crops. Not bad for a guy who sat in the back of Math class. I'm just a kid, after all, and those lectures were pretty boring. I probably would have paid more attention if I thought it would be "life and death" like it seems to be to these two.

She looks shocked to see the delegates in my studio, especially acting as chummy as they are now: she must have heard about their disagreement. She asks about what's happening and Tryna and Ric take turns explaining. I smile at their excitement. Paylor is looking from one to the other to me. She's probably wondering how I came to be involved in the whole situation. I'll let her wonder; since it's not like I really did any of the work. I'm just glad that it all worked out and that some families will be eating well while others will stay warm and dry through the winter. It feels like a pretty good day's work.

Paylor warmly waves Tryna and Ric out the door, telling them that she will catch up later. They thank me again and leave, happy to have come to an agreement. Paylor assesses me as I start cleaning my brushes. It's very quiet.

"What?" I say. I'm uncomfortable with her staring at me.

"That was really impressive. They've been arguing for days and I didn't think they would come to an agreement. How did you do it?"

"They just needed to talk it out in a safe place. I don't know much about either of their districts, so they explained the entire problem to me and a solution became obvious. " I shrug, still cleaning brushes.

"Hmmm." Paylor doesn't sound convinced. "You did what the entire delegation couldn't accomplish in 2 days. Are you sure you don't want a career in politics?"

My hands stop and I stare up at her incredulously. "You're kidding."

"No. Not at all. You've got skills that we could use in the Capitol. We need people who can solve problems without a fight. The districts are still only thinking of themselves and we need people who can see beyond that. You should consider what you want to do longer term and really think about this as an option." She motions to the room, the mansion and the city with an encompassing gesture.

I snort. I'm the last person I now associate with non-violent resolution. Although I can see how the old Peeta would have fit the bill nicely and how it might look to her. As for the Capitol…. I struggle with triggers here. It's been great for recovery to be in the city where I was prepped for The Games, then later tortured because so much triggers episodes. I have had no choice but to learn to control it. I'm getting to the point where I can relax sometimes and focus on my painting. Do I picture myself here long term? No: someday I'd like to get a full night's sleep. "I'll consider it," I tell her.

After all, she is the President. Can I say no to the President?

I can see her watching me like she can almost tell what I'm thinking. It's the look from the portrait – like I've let her down and just need to apply myself.

"I came by to tell you that Plutarch wants to do an art exhibit of your drawings and paintings." She transitions back to all-business. I stare at her uncomprehendingly. "I told him about your work and he said it would be great press for us to exhibit them here in the mansion and throw a party. Let everyone take a look at them and usher in a new era of artistic freedom. Something like that."

"Plutarch?" I'm fighting the memory of those silver parachutes again.

"Yes. He's the Secretary of Communications now for all of Panem. We've talked about that…before." That title says to me that he is still the Head Gamemaker. I'm holding on to a paintbrush so hard that it snaps in two. Paylor stares at the broken pieces. So do I.

"I told you that I'll punch him the next time I see him." I'm still gripping the pieces tightly. She nods.

"I don't think I have enough for a gallery exhibit, anyway. I'm sure he'll be disappointed." My tone is scathing. I really hate that man. "I only have your portrait, Rue and Prim completed." I'm sure there will be more paintings finished. But if it means making Plutarch happy, I may never paint again.

"He's found some of your paintings from the Victory Tour here in the Capitol so we can display those too. Evidently, Snow sold some of them or gave them as gifts in exchange for favors." The thought of him touching my work makes me nauseous. Yet the idea of seeing some of them, my work from before the hijacking is too good to pass up.

"Where are they? I'd love to see them."

The assessing look is back on her face. "Are you sure?" I nod. "Then follow me."


	11. Through Different Eyes

_**I do not own The Hunger Games.**_

_Peeta's POV_

I follow Paylor through the mansion. We're both quiet and I'm caught somewhere between anticipation and dread at seeing the paintings that I painted as my old self. I don't want to confront exactly how damaged I am. I wonder how different even my talent is post-hijacking. _Did Snow take that from me too? How much of myself have I lost? _Perhaps this is Snow's last cruel joke: to confront my old self with my new one and be aware of all that is gone. I wish I were wearing handcuffs or something else to strain again with my hands. _The paintings are in the mansion?_ I've been in proximity to them the whole time. The thought makes me dizzy, like the two halves of me should have been aware of the other.

We're in a part of the building I've never seen before and the stench of genetically engineered roses reaches the corridor here. When Paylor opens the door, I see a huge garden behind walls of glass and a series of rooms that all open onto it. It would be beautiful if I weren't gagging on the cloying smell.

"These are Snow's personal quarters. He was incarcerated here after the Capitol fell." Paylor speaks quietly. We've stopped in front of a floor-to-ceiling glass door that opens to the garden. Even with the door shut, it smells like death to me. _How much worse is it with the doors open? _I close my eyes and can see the mutts ripping Finnick's head off and want to pass out or run screaming from this room. "This is where Katniss found him that day." Paylor motions to the garden. I can't imagine how Katniss could smell this smell and not give in to her own personal darkness.

Paylor guides me past from the garden entrance and into the series of rooms next to it. The rooms are luxurious beyond my imaginings: carpets so plush that my shoes sink into them, platinum doorknobs, dark wood furniture, lamps with shades that must be made out of gemstones. There is no dust, no dirt. There is barely any sound in these rooms. Everywhere there is the smell of roses. And on the walls I see my memories as if through another, fresher, pair of eyes.

The three paintings in this room are next to each other. The strokes are broad and bold and remarkable. The choice of color is amazing and the sense of light and dark carries the emotion of each piece. They must be part of my first Games because the middle one is obviously the Cornucopia. The one to the left looks like some sort of forest glade scene – rocks and trees and a stream running through it all. The one to the right is also rocks and water, but the lighting is different. I step closer to it and reach out to touch the water on the rock. It's so realistic that I am surprised my hand doesn't come away wet.

The cave. This is the cave where Katniss tried to kill me.

I'm struggling for control. I want to grab the painting and smash it, growl like an animal in pain and hurt. She was killing me and I painted it. Why would I paint it? I fight the shinier parts of the memory and ground myself in what I know, breathing deeply: I was sick. Katniss found me. She carried me down that stream bed and hid me in the cave. She fed me and got the medicine for my leg. The rain started and we had a lamb stew feast. I came out of the Games alive. These things are all true: all Real. My body isn't reacting that way though. My pulse is racing and I swear I can hear my breath coming in deep pants like a dog on a hot summer day. I fight harder to get myself under control._ Come on…. Stay with me…. _It's my mantra now, not just hers to me in the Capitol.

I must be staring at the paintings so hard that I've forgotten the President is next to me because when she touches my arm to get my attention, I jump. The look she's giving me is full of concern. "Peeta, are you ok?" I nod. I don't trust my voice. "If you need to sit down, we can sit for a few minutes." She motions to the rest of the apartment, "There are other paintings to see. If you prefer, we can leave the rest for another time."

No. I want to see what I saw through the eyes of that other Peeta. I shake my head to let her know that we need to move on. The next painting we come across is Foxface. She's lying on her back, eyes open in surprise, with berry juice staining her mouth and hands a deep purple. Although I recall her death, this one doesn't affect me as deeply as the initial trio of paintings. It's like the image was painted by a stranger.

We move on to a stack propped against a wall in another room. Paylor tells me that Plutarch had them rounded up from various and assorted people who performed favors for Snow. Snow then repaid them with a painting of mine. _He gave little pieces of my soul to strangers for favors. _Then I think about Finnick and what Snow did to him and know that I got off easy.

"I'd like to have these brought to my studio." I motion to the stack and the other room. I'm not sure if I can stomach the old Peeta and the new clashing in my studio, since it's the one place I feel whole. I don't need a reminder that I'm not. At the same time, it's a fairly large stack and I'd like to examine them more closely. I make a move back the way we came and again her hand detains me.

"Peeta, we're not done." Paylor's look is both concerned and…what is that? Pity? "There's one more." She walks toward a door and opens it. From the limited view I have, I can see that it's a very large bedroom done in shades of black and gold. It's very opulent. I am rooted to the spot and my stomach twists in recognition of the fact that it must be Snow's bedroom. _He has a painting of mine hanging in his bedroom. _I don't want to imagine what I would have painted that he would have hung somewhere so personal. I shuffle forward, feeling like I am treading through quicksand. I swear getting to the door takes hours, although I am sure it's only minutes. Dread fills me.

Paylor waits patiently next to the door. I look at her questioningly and she motions for me to precede her. I am in a large room. The carpet is black as the coal dust in the Seam. The window and bed coverings are a golden color and the furniture is all a very dark wood. I'm pretty sure that Effie would call it Mahogany. The room looks out on the rose garden, of course. _Snow would want to look at his beauties from his bedroom._ I don't see anything art related first. Then I notice that, on the opposite side of the room and across from the bed there is a fireplace and sitting area. The chairs are black leather and look comfortable and well used. Above the fireplace is a picture.

The picture is Katniss. She is up a tree and looking down at the pack of us on the ground. I know, even though it is not in the picture, that we are circling the base of the tree looking for a way to kill her. She believes, at that moment, that I am out to kill her. She looks defiant but also hurt and terrified, with terrified and hurt trumping defiant. Later she finds a way to drop the TrackerJackers on us and get away, but just at the moment in the picture, it is a close-up look at her surrounded and beaten.

This picture hangs across from his bed. Every morning he saw her frightened face, hovering just out of reach.

I turn around and run blindly out of the room, out of the apartment and down a maze of hallways, my heart pounding. I finally begin to recognize familiar territory and make my way back to the studio. What did he think when he saw her every morning? Did he revel in her pain and terror? Was he frustrated that he was unable to reach her, as Cato had been frustrated? Did he pity her as the sponsors in the Capitol had? Did his hatred grow for her into the bombing attack against District 12?

I rush into the bathroom and am sick again and again. _It was across from his bed_ runs through my head over and over. I rest my face against the cool tile. Did he look at it and wonder what Katniss would do if I were really out to kill her? Was my painting the seed of the idea for the hijacking? Did I unknowingly plant the seeds?

Paylor doesn't come looking for me: it's for the best. I stay curled up on the cold tile floor of the bathroom for hours. I keep thinking about that bedroom and what it means to wake up to a picture of a girl you believe to be your enemy day after day. What it must have driven him to, that daily reminder of her. I know it's going to be a long night. I can almost bet that Snow and Katniss will both be in my dreams.

I shudder.

_I am sitting in warm sand holding Katniss in my lap with the smell of salt in the warm air around us. We are kissing. This is not the kiss of the Capitol, where her lips cling desperately to mine, clenched shut with tension. This kiss is desperate in a different way, lips clinging wetly and breath mingling while mouths slant over each other again and again. Her hands run over my chest. I can feel them burning through the fabric of my undershirt with the lightest of touches (my jumpsuit having been burned away by the mist). I cannot catch my breath unless my mouth is against hers, my eyes shut tightly against the myriad of sensations. My own handles cradle her like precious cargo, holding her wrapped around me. We are sinking into each other and it feels like we are too far apart, although our skin clings with sweat. She could take my life right now and I would not care if she did – perhaps she already has and I am dead, dying, spiraling outside myself in sensation. It is too much at once and I am overwhelmed. I am drowning in the sea; I am burning in the sun. I want this moment to last forever with her hands and her mouth on me until I am overcome._

I am awake, suddenly, gasping for air like a fish. I scrub my mouth which is not wet, but dry. My skin is cool from the breeze coming in through the open window rather than hot from the water and the sun and the sand. My heart is racing and my body throbs with remnants of the dream. The dream is dead, as dead as the Katniss and Peeta that are trapped within the golden sand and blue sea, forever caught in that molten moment. The Quell: I was dreaming of the Quell.

I gulp down some water and splash some on my face. I stare at my face in the light of the bathroom: after a dream like that, I expect to look different. Like my lips should be puffy or there should be nail marks on my shoulders. There aren't. I look the same: tired, hair flopping and spiky around the scars still prominent across my forehead. My body still throbs with need and loss and I will it to quiet down, closing my eyes and leaning against the cool mirror. My pulse and breath returns to normal. I laugh a little at the thought that at least it was not a nightmare, not really. After the horrible day I've had, that seems like something.

Haymitch. I should call Haymitch. So what if it's two in the morning? Haymitch never sleeps anyway. Maybe I could just use a friendly voice to chase away the traces of the dream. Maybe I just want to make sure that I didn't actually die on that beach and that someone can hear me. The fact that I classify Haymitch's voice as "friendly" makes me laugh again – I must be desperate. Or maybe, if I admit it to myself, I want to make sure the girl in back in 12 isn't as terrified and hurt as she is in the painting I saw today.

I think of all of us who are awake and alone throughout Panem, the Victors who are left, the soldiers and citizens who lost someone or who aided in the loss of someone. We are all sharing the dark hours connected oddly together through our loneliness.


	12. Old Acquaintances

_**I do not own The Hunger Games.**_

_**Someone mentioned that these chapters are too short. Do you guys agree? I'm trying to keep each Chapter to about 1500 to 2000 words now. Would you prefer longer?**_

_**Special thanks to Moonmagnet, MrsOdairmockingjay132, Twinstwice and 93 for the repeated encouragement: it's great to get any reviews at all and the repeats or private messages are even more encouraging. **_

_Peeta's POV_

The phone rings and rings. I'm second guessing my desire to talk to anyone, let alone Haymitch when I hear someone fumble the receiver off the hook and mumble something.

"Haymitch?"

"Peeta?" He sounds groggy but awake. Not quite sober. I know that Haymitch doesn't sleep very well and am guessing he spends most nights slowly drinking his pain away. He can't get drunk though because he needs to stay vigilant throughout the night.

"Yeah. Uh, sorry to wake you." I'm pretty embarrassed now that I needed to call him.

He sighs, "Boy, we both know that I wasn't sleeping. What can I do for you?" I hear clinking and am sure he's pouring himself another drink.

"I called because….I was wondering…..um….. what's been going on with….."

He interrupts me. "Katniss is the same as she was two days ago when we talked," I check in with Haymitch periodically to get an update on 12. On him. On Katniss. "I don't see her. She doesn't move much. Seems pretty out of it. **This** was the reason for your middle of the night call?" I take a deep breath and he says exasperatedly. "Out with it. What's going on?"

So I spill it: Plutarch and the exhibit idea, my new paintings, the paintings in Snow's apartment, the one in Snow's bedroom. I explain that I don't trust Plutarch, especially believing that he blew up Prim. I end with the Quell dream.

"Well, well…. Peeta finally went through puberty!" Haymitch laughs.

"It's not funny." I mumble. One of the upsides of being hijacked and only ever being in love with one girl is an almost zero recollection of any other dreams like that. I won't lie and say they haven't happened since I was rescued, but they don't seem to show up when I'm worried about life and death. Luckily for me, that's been almost every day except these past few months.

"Boy, I am not gonna explain the birds and bees to you. But I will tell you it's natural. It's a good sign! All your parts are working, right?" I don't even want to discuss "parts" with Haymitch.

"Haymitch, I called to see if you thought….well, during the Quell…. Was that kiss….. You know….was it Real?" It sort of falls out of my mouth. I can feel the blush blooming on my cheeks. When am I going to stop blushing? I rub the back of my neck.

"Ah, Peeta. You want to know if Katniss was kissing you because she loved you and not because she was in an arena facing death for the second time, wearing next to nothing and with seventeen year old hormones raging through her brain." I can hear a little chortle on his end on that last bit. I wince. There's a pause that I hope he takes as a silent yes. This conversation is so much worse than the actual birds and bees conversation with my Dad - That one I do remember.

He sighs and lets some silence come back to the conversation. "Truth is, I don't know. I think back on that time and you were spending so much time together, alone. And then the interviews happened," he chuckles again as he thinks about the pregnancy announcement, "I just assumed it was hormonal. You kids…." My heart aches when he says what I assumed. "…but I saw her face when your heart stopped, saw her face during that kiss. Boy, she's not that good an actress. Trust me; I coached her for her first interview and she couldn't even pull off _nice_. "He mumbles something that sounds like "charm of a slug".

"So you think…. You think she might have loved me?" I swallow hard and put my head down on the table.

Haymitch answers seriously, "She was frantic in the hovercraft when they took you after your first games. She was beyond crazed when you were taken after the Quell." He laughs this time without humor and I hear another swallow, "Did I ever tell you that she tried to kill me for leaving you in the arena? And before you get all uppity about it, my answer's the same: I didn't want to leave you. You two got separated and we couldn't get both of you out. I knew you were stronger…. So Plutarch and I made a choice." It's quiet and I can hear my own breathing in and out. I'm pretty sure that I should be triggering right now: there's a shiny memory of Katniss telling everyone to leave me behind. Evidently I am all burnt out of emotion from the day and the dream.

…"We made the right choice. You're strong, Peeta. You're beating this thing. And if your places were reversed, she would have broken like she did after….."Haymitch doesn't have to say more. I know he means after Coin's shooting. "And we would have lost you too. Losing her was the one thing that would've wiped you out." Another pause, another drink carries over the telephone. "Now, get some sleep." Haymitch finishes roughly.

We hang up and I climb back into bed. I'm sure I won't get to sleep with what's running through my head. Did she love me? I remember Gale telling me that she had never kissed him like that. And, although my feelings for her are a crazy mess, that fills me with…Joy? Triumph? Possessiveness? After all the loneliness of the past months, the confusion and loss and uncertainty, having someone care about me above all others would be…well…amazing. I think of the heat of that kiss and it warms me from the inside out.

Was Katniss Everdeen in love with me? I have a feeling this has been a fundamental and defining question for me in the past 2 years. Believing she wasn't, that she was a user and just manipulating me, goes back to way before the Capitol's torture. And let's face it: the fact is that I didn't have the guts to talk to her for my first sixteen years sort of reinforces the "it's all in your head" opinion. Believing that everything was one-sided is self-preservation, since I can't always tell real from not real and she is my largest trigger. Maybe that wasn't entirely true, though. Maybe there was more to it than a one-sided love affair that led me to betrayal and near death.

I drowsily think about what centers me: what is the core of who I am now. The piece that I have rejected over and over was any relationship with Katniss. I start to drift off when I hear Katniss' voice in my head, "You're a painter. You're a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces." The memory makes me smile. Was Katniss Everdeen in love with me?

It's been a week since I spoke with Haymitch in the middle of the night. I've spent the intervening time checking out my older paintings and working furiously on my new ones as a result. The newer images include a couple of Katniss: her kissing me and bringing me back to myself, her face when we talked for the first time after Annie and Finnick's wedding. The images are grittier and less flattering than my earlier depictions of her. I wonder if that's because of the Peeta I have become, or if Katniss, too, has changed. I picture her on that bed, thin as a bird and know that she's changed at least as much as I have. The warmth and elation I felt after the Quell dream are gone as I begin to realize that the girl and boy from the Quell are dead.

I'm not in best of moods.

Paylor and Plutarch are visiting my studio to talk to me about the exhibition of my paintings. Plutarch is staring at the canvases around him; I've been painting almost non-stop and the results show it. The "BQ" (before Quell) set of paintings shows my first Games pretty clearly and my new relationship with Katniss. The technique and colors are bold, and the emotions conveyed are raw. The AQ (After Quell) set shows the rediscovery of my painting technique, my time in 13, and that darker look at Katniss. A more muted color set and shakier technique are evident there and it's the most tentative emotionally as well. The AR (after Rebellion) set shows Paylor's portrait and drawings, Rue, Prim, my brothers, Katniss on her bed (a Mockingjay caged and broken), and bits of the Capitol during that last mission. Plutarch looks somewhat distastefully at the AR set. He doesn't seem pleased.

"Who wants to see an exhibit full of this?" He motions to the ones that are specifically Prim and Rue.

"Full of…what?" I say quietly. I'm glad Paylor is there, because all I want to do is slug him.

"You know, dead kids. It's depressing. When I came up with this idea, I thought you'd paint something more…positive and inspirational. Like your flower cookies." I swear I want to stab him through the eye with a pencil. I'm pretty sure I could get away with it too - my reputation for being mentally unstable and my past as a Victor would help.

"I'll stop painting dead children if you stop making so many of them to paint." We glare at each other.

Paylor steps between us and lays a hand on each of our arms. "This is not helping. Plutarch, can you use what we've got here for the exhibit, or do you need more?"

Plutarch looks around in distaste. "Well, it's not the amount that's the problem. The whole point of this exhibit is to show rebuilding and hope. You know, the angle of "coming together as a country after the rebellion, healing, that sort of thing. This…." He points around him, "isn't really what we need. We need something lighter. Happier." He walks over to the picture of Rue with flowers all around her. "Take this one, for instance. I wasn't that impressed with it the first time you painted it…."

I've stopped listening and am caught up in the memory he's referencing: it's the Training Center and I am in front of Plutarch and the rest of the GameMakers. They are barely paying attention to me. I paint Rue in camouflages on the floor mat, the mat that smells of the sweat of tributes from who knows how many Hunger Games. I do the best job that I can in the fifteen minutes I am allotted, vowing the whole time to make those minutes count for me and for her.

I'm glad I painted her again. I'm glad Plutarch has the reminder in front of his face of what he and Seneca and who knows how many other GameMakers have done to us. Paylor must see some of this on my face. She turns to Plutarch and says, "The exhibit is in a week, yes?" Plutarch nods once. "Then Peeta has a week to see what else he can come up with. Plutarch, your job is to find an angle to display all of the work that is here." Her eyes are determined and steely.

Plutarch looks like he's going to argue. I'm certain that I will have moon shaped marks on my palms tomorrow, so hard am I clenching my hands. "All of it, Plutarch. No argument." She motions to the door. "Go on and I'll catch up with you in a minute." Plutarch is dismissed. She waits until he's left the room completely.

"Peeta, I know this feels bad to you…."

I cut her off. "You don't know what I'm feeling." I will not put up with her placating me.

"Give me some credit for at least understanding some of it. You're not the only one who lost something and is trying to find himself. That was the whole point in me going forward with this scheme of Plutarch's…. Some of us feel like pawns too; like we're pieces of some sick game. Like we've been used. What's left for us? Show us. Show us how not to be a piece in someone else's game. You're the country's best example of someone who is making himself over to be something new. Something better." As she walks out the door, I swear I can hear an echo of myself from the first Games, explaining to Katniss that I want to remain true to myself.


	13. Panem et Ludos

_**I do not own The Hunger Games.**_

_**I borrowed the names of Peeta's brothers from "My First Date With Katniss Everdeen", the first Fanfic I ever read and the one that got me hooked. **_

_**Many thanks to the reviewers and others who keep reading.**_

_**Extra-special thanks to Chris for making sure I sound like the 18 year old boy I am not.**_

_Peeta's POV_

Dr. Aurelius and I are sitting in the kitchen at the mansion for my session. I'm making bread. Dr. Aurelius has never seen me bake before, although he has had some of the stuff I make. I like the fact that our sessions can now involve this sort of activity – I feel less like I am being studied and more like it's a normal conversation.

I thought about what Paylor said after leaving my studio last week for most of that afternoon. What I came up with was to try to get back to "happiness base zero". It's a bit of a rip off of what the prep teams say when they were fixing us up for the Games. They called it "beauty base zero" or the place from which they could build us into more attractive tributes. Baking is that base zero for me. Painting came later, so I suppose that anything creative would count, but my earliest happy memories are baking.

I'm explaining this to Dr. Aurelius, saying that I'm really pleased with the paintings I've completed in the past week. They are more positive and focus on moments that were happy in my life.

…"So, in a way, I guess this means that Plutarch was right." That phrase sticks in my throat as I say it. However much it irks me, I do have to give Plutarch some credit.

"Right in what way, Peeta?" Dr. Aurelius is watching my hands as they knead dough. It's the most physical he's seen me, barring when I trigger with an episode or on screen during the Games. He seems mesmerized.

I grimace, flip the dough and pound the center as I knead. "Looking for happiness, looking around me and noticing the positive feels good. It feels like something the old Peeta would do. I think it's helping me heal because I see that not everything is darkness and not everyone is a horrible person. People have kindness in their hearts. It's ironic that Plutarch wants this as a publicity thing. Do you think he actually gets that there is some merit to it?" Dr. Aurelius doesn't answer. He never does. I answer for him. "I'll bet he doesn't. I'll bet he just thinks it's good TV – still trying to make the whole rebellion look like a success, despite all the people who are dead."

"You bring up a good point, Peeta. Does the end justify the means?" I look at him quizzically, kneading all the while. "The rebellion. Your capture. The Games. The children and the parachutes…were they all worth the end result, if that end result is positive?"

It's not an easy question to answer. I totally disagree that the Games ever had a positive result, although I did get to talk to Katniss finally. My capture… well, I don't feel like that had a lot of positives either. Or the parachutes. The rebellion though is a little more complicated because I like what's happening with the Districts. And the Capitol citizens seem more… human somehow. I'm puzzling it, so I talk slowly. "The end result doesn't justify what happened. That's not really what I am saying. What I think is that, for all of the bad things that happen there is something good that can be found. Something that helps us to move on, if we look for it."

"Are you looking for it? A reason to move on?"

I think while I put the bread in a bowl to rise and put another loaf into the oven. Dr. Aurelius lets me think – he always does. I say the thing that has been weighing on me since I painted those children and we talked about forgiveness in an earlier session. I'm just now able to put it into words. "Moving on means leaving them behind."

"Who, Peeta?"

"All of the people who are gone now: My family, my friends, Prim, Rue, Foxface, Finnick… It's like mourning them over and over and over to think about them but that is so much better than forgetting. I don't want to forget them." I think of all the people I paint that are no longer in my life. "Doesn't it seem wrong to do all this work to remember someone, only to let them go?"

There is quiet in the kitchen and the smell of bread envelops the room. I breathe deeply. I hear Dr. Aurelius do the same.

"Peeta, I think it's safe to say that all of the normal grieving emotions are going to happen. And I can see that your hijacking and work to recover memories is also going to play into your grieving process. We've talked before that losing more of your memory is a fear of yours, so it makes total sense that you would be feeling all of this." He pauses and assesses me. "How about we play a game? Perhaps that will help to reinforce those memories and, at the same time, reinforce the concept of looking for something good." "Are you interested in a game?" I sit down on a stool facing him and shrug. Why not?

"It's a word association game. I'm going to say a name. Take your time and I want you to think of a positive memory that you associate with them. It can be a scene, something you did together, something that happened that make it a good day… whatever you like. Are you ready?" I nod.

"I'll start with someone who is still alive as a baseline: Delly."

"First kiss." I don't even have to think, that's how quickly the memory comes back. "I was in first grade and she was chasing me around the playground. When she caught me, she kissed me on the cheek. I yelled at her like it was the end of the world." I smile at the memory.

"Excellent. How about Riley?"

I laugh. "Beating him at wrestling. He was sore about it for a month because he was always bigger than me." It feels good to laugh a deep belly laugh.

"How about a kindness that he did for you?" I have to think about that. My relationship with my brothers was a guy's relationship. We didn't hug a lot and we didn't do tons of favors for one another. I loved them both, though, even if I didn't tell them enough. I remember how weird it was to come home after the first Games and how my relationship with them changed. I was no longer just the little brother and they suddenly acted like they needed to be nice to me. Like I had come back from the dead and they had to be nice to the dead guy. I don't tell Dr. Aurelius that, though. Instead, I answer with, "Riley would sometimes cover my shift at the bakery on Saturday so I could sleep in."

"Rue?"

That name should be difficult because I barely knew Rue. A couple of things pop to my head right away, though. "She was adorable, following us around the Training Center. She saved Katniss. Her District, with the salute…" I can feel myself starting to trigger on that memory of the Victory Tour. I can see the families as I give my speech and then the three fingers meaning respect and goodbye. I hear the gunshot as we are escorted into the building. _That man died because of Katniss. It was Katniss who had to give her own speech to the crowd._

I'm fighting the attack off. When I surface, I see Dr. Aurelius taking my bread out of the oven. The sight is astounding because I've never seen him do anything but lift a pen or a fork. He mostly just…sits. I gape at him. He puts the bread on the counter to cool and comes back to his stool to sit down.

"Primrose." He carries on as if nothing happened and he bakes every day. For all I know about him, maybe he does.

Again, the memories are right on top of my mind, "Cool hands and a soft voice. She was so nice to me in 13 when she would come to see me. I think she kept telling me not to give up, even when she thought I couldn't hear."

"Your Father."

"Baking with him. His hugs. His patient voice, trying to teach me how to tally the register. His smell. He gave me cookies when he said goodbye to me for my first Games. I ate one a night every night before bed until the arena." I get a little teary eyed when I think of him.

"Miche." Miche is my oldest brother, so I should have a lot of good memories of him. I do, I suppose. But they are also wrapped up in other, not so pleasant memories of my Mom.

_I am nine and come home from school. Everything seems normal. It's been months since my Mom has gone after one of us and I think I'm safe. I walk into the house, yelling to say that I'm home when my Mom comes around the corner from the kitchen to the dining room holding a pair of my pants in her hand. I notice they are the pair that I wore to play ball with my friends yesterday and they have grass stains on the knees. I haven't had time to wash them yet. I stupidly move to take them from her, happily thanking her for reminding me to wash them when the first blow takes me completely by surprise: I haven't noticed that she is holding a large wooden spoon in her other hand. I drop the pants and protect my face, backing away toward the door. She is relentless and keeps coming at me with the rolling pin until I am backed into a corner. I curl up, trying to make myself smaller, crying and begging for her to stop hitting me. I hear the back door open and she is suddenly not focused on me anymore – my oldest brother Miche is screaming at her and hitting her. He's thirteen and is bigger than she is now. She is so distracted by him that I run away. I run to my Dad in the bakery and he lets me stay there until we go home together._

What I say quietly back is, "He protected me." I don't say more, even when Dr. Aurelius prods me. Talking about my Mom is mostly off limits.

And the point of this exercise becomes clear in the kitchen full of the smell of bread: I have worth. All of those people and all of those kind memories tell me that I matter. And if I matter and am alive while they are not, I should not squander that gift. I should take their kindness and the gift of my life and move on. Because moving on doesn't mean leaving them behind: moving on means taking them with me.

I give Dr. Aurelius the still warm bread and go back to my studio. I spend the night painting my best, happy memory of my Dad. What comes out is a picture of his large hands and my smaller one kneading dough on a floured board. My sleep that night, curled up on the studio floor with a blanket, is dreamless.


	14. A Phone Call and an Interview

_**I do not own The Hunger Games.**_

_**Many thanks to the reviewers and anyone who keep reading this story. **_

_Peeta's POV_

Haymitch and I are talking on one of our normal telephone calls. He's normally pretty drunk, so they are short. Today he doesn't sound quite as numb, so I think we'll actually be able to have a conversation. I've just asked him how things are going in 12.

"People are starting to come back. Rebuild. They're clearing some of town first. No one is all that interested in the Seam yet." I still don't have a clear picture of the damage to 12. Since I haven't been back there since the bombing, I have to rely on Haymitch but I don't think he's going to go into all of the details that I want to know. Like what the bakery looks like and if there is anything left of my former life. "Maybe a couple of hundred folks are hanging around, moving in."

"That many?" Only about nine hundred people got out with Gale, and they were mostly Seam. At least that's what everyone told me in 13. If it's those same people moving back, I think it's ironic that they are clearing town first: maybe no one wants to be from the Seam, even the people who are. Or maybe they too can't face the places that they used to live?

"Yeah. Some new faces from other districts, even from 13. A lot from of the people coming back were from here."

"What are they eating? You guys doing alright?" I'm thinking of Tryna from District 7 and the state of her district. Gale had to organize hunting parties in the woods to keep everyone fed and that was only for a few days. If 12 isn't able to be self-sustaining… I try not to think about more starving families. Wasn't that the entire point of the rebellion?

"Capitol shipments keep us fed. Some of the men are trying to hunt, I hear. One got attacked by a wild boar the other day – wasn't too pretty. Good thing we have a doctor here now, or he would have ended up in a really bad way." Haymitch derides, "I heard the boar got away. Hear they're gonna build us a hospital."

"And a factory. I hear that 12 will be making some medical supplies or medicines." I repeat what I've heard during my time here. The conversation tapers off because Haymitch isn't that interested in politics or even having a job at a factory. The mere thought of Haymitch showing up for a regular shift somewhere and being earnest enough to do a good job makes me chuckle. Sometimes I wonder what Haymitch thinks about his life.

"You have any more puberty dreams?" Haymitch asks. Maybe he heard me chuckle to myself and this is payback.

"No." I think to myself, _nd if there were, I wouldn't tell you in a million years!"_

"That's too bad. A dream like that can make a man's day!" Haymitch guffaws. _The thought of Haymitch having a dream like that...it's just gross to contemplate. _ He quiets down. "You haven't asked how Katniss is yet. Isn't she the real reasons for these calls?"

"She's not the only reason." My relationship with Haymitch is a lot like my relationship with Miche: in his own surly and cantankerous way, he protects me. I have a grudging respect for him and I owe him my life. We're connected now, more like family than anything else I have on this earth.

He scoffs at me. "Come on, boy. I don't need your company." We're both quiet for a moment and I consider the word _need_. Haymitch doesn't _need_ much; he's a survivor. Anyone who's been to his house can see that! I can't help but think, though, that there's more to life than just surviving.

His tone turns serious. "She's not doing well. I think..." he takes a large breath and continues, "I think you might want to come and say goodbye."

"_What?" _I am completely taken aback. "What do you mean…goodbye?"

Haymitch sighs again. "She's fading away. You can see it when you look at her. Remember how she looked on that screen when she had given up?" I don't respond. I see her curled up on that bed in my mind sometimes, completely broken. Haymitch takes my silence as affirmation. "She's never really come back and it's like she doesn't want to. I think she's…trying to disappear. Her biggest asset has always been her fight to survive and she's completely lost that. If you have unfinished business you should take care of it soon."

I'm speechless. I can tell from the silence on the other end of the telephone that Haymitch is waiting for me to say something but there are no words. _Katniss, gone? That's impossible._ Another panicked thought runs through my head and I blurt it out, "I'm not ready." I know it's true: I'm not ready to face her, face the challenge of being around her and getting my questions answered, watching her…watching her…I can't even complete the thought.

"Not ready for...what? Get on a train. Get out here. Not a lot of work to it." Haymitch says.

"I'm not ready to…not strong enough to face her."

"Remember when we were training for the Quell? You pushed all of us to work so hard. You could train the rest of your life and not be strong enough for this. It's coming anyway, whether you are strong enough for not."

I say the thing that I am too afraid to even _think._ "What if I trigger? What if I…hurt her?" My concerns for myself are nothing compared to those for her. If she's as bad as Haymitch says, I could kill her.

Haymitch laughs, a sound completely without humor. "I don't think she would notice and, if she did, she might even welcome it. Look, Peeta, I'll make you a deal. I'll be your mentor one more time. Make sure you are both safe and sound."

When I still don't answer him, I hear him sigh. "I told her once that you wouldn't abandon her if the situation was reversed and she was the one hijacked." He pauses again." Don't make me a liar."

It's later and I'm still thinking about that conversation with Haymitch. I can't help the gaping maw of dread that opens up when I think directly about Katniss dying. At least it's taking my mind off Plutarch, who has found me in the kitchen and is letting me know the schedule for the opening. I'm not speaking much, just letting Plutarch run on at the mouth. He doesn't seem to notice my silence, or the way that I am not so much kneading the dough as beating it up.

"The exhibition is just a vehicle to showcase our series of interviews about the districts. The plan is to showcase a Victor or other well known person, and describe how they and their district are rebuilding. Really show how great strides are being made in the nation's recovery." Plutarch pops a primrose cookie into his mouth and I try not to smirk at him. "We're starting with the Capitol Victor."

_Whoa_. "The what?" I'm sure I haven't heard him correctly. There is no such thing as a Capitol victor, since the Capitol didn't send tributes into the Games.

"The Capitol Victor." Plutarch chews and enunciates each word at the same time, talking to me like I'm an idiot. He points a finger at me, "You." I pause in my decimation of gluten to stare at him. He is totally oblivious and pops another cookie. He seems very self-satisfied. I resume my attack on the dough: those gluten strands don't stand a chance.

"Exactly how did I get that nickname?" Each word practically drips with poison. I punctuate the last word by slamming the dough on the countertop.

Plutarch chews. "Well, the people here already loved you. You've been through so much at the hands of Snow, yet you've stayed here, in the city that corrupted you, and risen above it. They citizens have obviously adopted you, so you've become the Victor de-facto for this district. We've been running lead-ins with clips of your various interviews and some follow up shots: you in District 13, the Capitol Center, some distance footage of you now. The ratings feedback is that you elicit the perfect blend of sympathy and admiration. People feel like they know you."

Despise is too tepid a word for what I feel for Plutarch. "The Star Crossed Lovers. The Mockingjay. The Capitol Victor: when do you stop playing with people?" I say sarcastically, "Oh, wait, that's right. You only get your reward if the Game goes off without a hitch. So you're trying to make people believe the rebellion was a good thing by showing my personal torment and attempt at recovery?" I've stopped kneading and am just digging my fingers into the dough: it feels like flesh. I wish it were flesh. Plutarch actually looks hurt by my cynicism.

From behind me I hear Paylor say, "Some of us do believe the rebellion was a good thing." She pauses as she sits down at the counter. "It's cost too much for me to believe that those loses were for nothing. Peeta, we're not the enemy and we didn't do those things to you. They happened. We're just showing how brave you are." Her disapproving look conveys censure and I can almost hear her telling me that it's just Plutarch's job. I glare back at her. _Yeah, it's his job, but it's my life._ She acknowledges my unspoken objection by snapping, "They are using the same sort of footage on me, so I am just as much on display as you are."

Being the private and practical person that she is, she must hate that. Just the idea that she understands my discomfort makes me back down a little. My eyes convey a little less heat, my hands a little less brutality. The silence spins between the three of us.

Plutarch is, of course, the first to break it. _Did he even understand the fact that we're both angry?_ He's going on about schedules and his plan for a live interview to kick off the exhibition. We will then travel to the launch party at the exhibition, which will be held in the gym of the Training Center. I think he's kidding about the Training Center, but I should know better: Plutarch has a way of architecting the most awful, uncomfortable things imaginable. "We really think that will convey the desperation that started the path to rebellion. It's a big space, too, which is perfect for the dignitaries who will be coming to 12 for the opening night party."

_OK, I get it. It's going to be horrible. There will be an interview, a bunch of dignitaries, and a party, all in the place that was meant to be the last place I spent any time before I died._ I've passed angry and incredulous to numb. I wonder if this is how Plutarch has gotten where he is: his victims just roll over form his sheer awful enthusiasm. Finally, I can't take it any longer and I have to make someone else as uncomfortable as I am. I turn to Paylor, "What are you wearing to the interview and exhibition?"

She looks at me blankly. I motion to her dark suit "Not that, I hope?" I use just the right of Effie-esque disdain to make her uncomfortable. She looks down at her lap.

Plutarch jumps at the opportunity to embarrass someone, "Peeta's right. You look horrible. Like a teacher or a principal or something. We need the President to have a little glamour for the event. The problem is that we seem to have a lack of stylists in the Capitol." I think that might be Plutarch's way of saying there is a shortage of stylists everywhere because they are all dead. He's subtle like that.

Paylor answers thoughtfully, the sting of discomfort gone from her eyes, "Maybe Effie knows someone."

"Effie?" I ask. I hurt when I think of the last time I saw Effie. Her eyes were so dead in that hallway outside Dr. Aurelius' office. How is she functioning?

"Effie is helping us plan the event. She'll be handling scheduling for the day of the kick off." Paylor meets my eyes and see my anger disappear. I should be grateful to be alive and to be recovering enough to do the things I am doing. Not everyone has that luxury. I think of Portia and my own prep team and am ashamed. _Prep teams and stylists…. _"I have an idea! I know I know how to put together a whole makeshift prep team.

I grin, thinking about what Venia, Flavius and Octavia will do to Paylor. I think that it will cheer them up to have someone to make beautiful again. After I explain my prep team idea, Plutarch chirps "Peeta, that's great! There are no stylists, though. How are we going to design a look for the President in only a few days with no one to do the work?"

I take my time putting the dough in a greased bowl and covering it to rise, then wipe my hands and walk back to the counter. Plutarch is looking at me hopefully, while Paylor looks like she might be feeling a little queasy with all of this talk of a makeover and a new look.

I put my hands flat on the counter and lean in for effect, "Well," I say, "First, we're going to go buy some fur-lined underwear." It's a long shot, but it just might work: Tigris will be our stylist.


	15. Prep

_**I do not own The Hunger Games.**_

_**Almost there! Just a couple of more chapters left to go!**_

_Peeta's POV_

I meet with Tigris and we hug briefly. We haven't spoken since we left her shop the day of the Capitol Center explosion. Even though it's been months, it feels like yesterday that she disguised us as Capitol refugees and helped save our lives.

She asks about Katniss in her weird, raspy voice. I tell her about the trial and the aftermath and her tail starts to twitch in annoyance, or maybe disbelief. I can't believe it either: after everything, Katniss, one of the strongest among us drifting away. She can see that I'm as upset as she is, so she drops the subject.

We get down to business: she's here to measure me for my interview outfit and try to come up with something creative that shows my personality. She has to run the design by Plutarch for approval, she says. I had forgotten that she knew Plutarch before and decide that I won't hold that against her. She asks to see my paintings, so we walk around the studio. She asks is if she can take a couple of my drawings with her: one of Paylor at a cross-district session, one a self-portrait of me painting. I tell her she can help herself to whatever she likes.

She eventually stops in front of a set of rough sketches, done on notebook paper with pencil like I used to in school, I have pinned up to the wall. Most of them are of Katniss. They represent innocuous scenes: her in history class, staring out the window and chewing thoughtfully on a pencil; her and Prim getting ready to walk home after school; the two of them outside the bakery staring at cakes through the window, laughing in the hallway at something. She is young and healthy and, for the most part, happy. There is another set close to it that are Katniss in 13, laughing during dinner with Johanna, an intense look of concentration on her face during training, and a close up of her looking tired in a room with a bare bulb. She looks no less young in these pictures but a lot more weary. I know that Tigris recognizes the background in the close up when I see her tail starts twitching again: it's her shop.

She leaves, tail still twitching. I wonder what she's thinking and hope she won't put me in a cat print.

I collapse into bed exhausted after a long session with Dr. Aurelius. I've told him about Haymitch's phone call and asked if he would help me prepare to see her. We've decided the best course of action is to play images of her over and over and try to provoke my trigger response so that I can control them no matter how bad they are. It's the only idea we've had to make sure that I don't kill Katniss. As a result, I've triggered more in the past few hours that I have in the past few weeks. I know sleep is a long-shot, despite how tired I am: too many images are running through my head.

It's becoming clearer to me how much of the hijacking helped me to avoid accountability on so many things because it let me lay the blame on Katniss and the rebellion. I remember Miche's application to get married that somehow kept getting lost after my return as Victor. I remember never quite being able to meet my Dad's eyes again after my return. How I couldn't stand to be in the same house with my Mom and my whole family fighting with me about moving out because of it. Before the berries that ended my first Games, there were other choices that were mine alone: burning the bread to give it to her despite the beating I knew it would cause, my interview telling all of Panem that I loved Katniss when I knew how it would flabbergast her, joining up with the careers as a strategy to help Katniss without letting her know because her reaction would be more believable for the cameras, giving a month's winnings to the families on the tour, sneaking into her room when I knew everyone would freak out when they found out about it and even warning District 13 of the bombing – all of those were my choices.

Everyone thought the old Peeta was so selfless, always putting others first. I'm beginning to see that there was more to him than that and that the veneer of selflessness may have been a lie for the cameras. Perhaps there is more of that old Peeta looking back at me from the mirror than I thought. Maybe he's not dead at all. Maybe I can take all of the good parts of old Peeta and the new things that I have discovered about myself and make something better.

Maybe so can she. _Katniss._

_I close my eyes and picture her in her house in the Victor's Village. She is talking to Haymitch and me while we all wait for dinner. Her white teeth flash as she laughs at some sarcastic comment of Haymitch's. What is she doing now? Is she sitting in the same house, waiting for the same laughter? Holding onto a family that isn't coming back? _

I sigh. Perhaps if I had not confessed my love for her, she would have quietly won the games and the rebellion would not have happened. Even in 13, when all I felt was hate, I needed to be near her. I define myself in relation to her, whether it's loving her or hating her. Katniss never asked for me to love her and did nothing to encourage it.

I know part of my rage isn't from the Tracker Jacker venom. It actually comes from wanting her to love me. Why couldn't she love me? I see her more objectively now, and she is still someone to admire. I finally come to understand what it's like to be conflicted about a person. Watching some of the footage is mortifying, especially the interview for the first Games and then my proposal on the Victory tour. The things I said…I know that I felt them and I can feel an echo of them deep in my chest, but it doesn't make them any less embarrassing when I see her face. I see how we're acting and I ache. I acted like loving her was simple and her loving me back would be too. I now know that it's not as simple as that: that being a good person does not mean that good things automatically happen to you. You would think, having almost watched her die when we were kids, that this would not be news to me. Still, the lessons I'm re-learning are true:

Life isn't simple.

People, even good people, make bad decisions.

Sometimes bad people make good things happen.

None of those things mean that a person is bad or is good or is going to love you.

I've also learned that forgiveness is work. Moving on is work.

She and I are connected, that's for sure. A part of me will be lost if I don't try to save her. No matter what I think or feel now, no matter how far I've come, I can't let her just fade away without trying to save her. In order to do that, I need to forgive her for not loving me. And if she ever did love me, then for not being able to love me the way I deserve to be loved.

I sleep a dreamless sleep. After so much emotion, I am grateful for the quiet blackness.

The week passes in a blur of activity. I joke with Paylor that she will be wearing leopard print on camera. Plutarch and I argue over which paintings to show. I bake. I paint. I meet with Dr. Aurelius. My plan for returning to 12 is still taking shape. I'm not ready to tell everyone that I am leaving yet and I don't want them making a big deal. I've never been a huge fan of goodbyes. I don't want anyone asking me about future plans at all…that one conversation with Paylor was enough awkwardness on the topic. I need to see what happens in 12 and get closure there before I make any larger plans.

It's the day before the exhibition, so it's finally time to meet with my prep team. We will do another touch up tomorrow, but the bulk of my "beautification" wil occur today. I dread this part: what they did to me wasn't fun before either of the Games, although I understand that the girls go through even more. _Who knew that a guy needed this much primping? _I hope Tigris isn't going to make me a laughingstock with whatever outfit she's dreamed up. The added bonus is that, of course, this team isn't mine at all – they are Katniss'. My team and Portia are dead. That will make this so much harder to get through. I grimly smile and hope that Venia, Octavia and Flavius have worked on guys before and not just girls. I cringe to think that all my body hair will get waxed otherwise.

They introduce themselves and we get started. They are nice: my new prep team. A little timid for a team that worked on Katniss. _How did she keep herself from shooting them? _I know from personal experience that she dislikes people being nice to her – it makes her feel like she owes them something. They talk a lot and ask a lot of questions (do you part your hair on the right or the left? Do you wear it over your ears or cut around your ears?). They get quiet, and their touch gets gentler, when they approach the burn scars on my forehead, shoulders and back. I tell them that I barely feel any pain from them. Octavia seems to tear up a bit.

I must look confused because Venia whispers to me, "She said that, too. Katniss. The last time we…saw her." _Ah, that makes sense. _The last time the team saw her was the assassination on Snow. Her burns were much fresher than mine.

"Seriously, they don't hurt." I make a show out of scratching a shoulder and poking at my forehead. "It's ok." I'm gifted with a watery smile from Octavia. "I'm a guy. I can take it. I bet I wouldn't even cry if you waxed off my leg hair." Venia laughs at that and even Flavius gives me a look that says 'oh stop you kidder'. _Of course, I only have one leg, so it would only hurt half as much…_

They're talking about some sort of body polish. Flavius is pretty adamant that it will help lighten up the scars. Venia looks like she's ready to come to blows telling him that Tigris said to leave me as is. Flavius finally turns to me and asks for my opinion on the matter. I'm pretty sure he's trying to appeal to my sense of vanity. I hate to break it to him, but I don't have one.

"You don't think they make me look older?" I quip. He stares at me blankly. Octavia is watching the whole thing like she might burst into tears any second, so I stop giving them a hard time. "Ok. Why do you want to do whatever this is?" I ask Flavius.

"It will even out your scarring. You're still a handsome young man. If we had more time…we might have been able to get rid of them almost completely." I can tell he's really concerned, and it's not just about how I am going to look on television.

I point at Venia, "And you don't want to do this because…" I taper off expectantly.

"Tigris said no. She said that you were supposed to look as natural as possible."

Flavius interrupts her, "I think Katniss will want to see him looking like the old Peeta."

I stop both of them. "Look. I appreciate that you want to make me look more handsome, Flavius. At this point, though, I would like to keep them. They help me to remember...that it happened and that I am not just making everything up. They help me tell Real from Not Real. Does that make sense?" Flavius stares at me for a moment and nods. "I remember really liking the way that facial scrub stuff felt the last time I was prepped. Do you guys have some of that?" Flavius nods and goes to get it while Venia assesses me. "What?" I ask her. _Do I have something on my face?_

She shakes her head. "You're just so… not what I expected. After everything you've been through…"

"The three of you have been through a lot, too." I say. They were rescued by Plutarch but were then tortured in 13.

Octavia says very softly, "Not as much as some." I know she is talking about Cinna, Portia, and my prep team.

I nod. "Did you know them? Portia and my team?" Octavia nods again, her eyes filled with tears. "Portia and Cinna were new, but your team...we were all friends. We had been in the Capitol together for five years. They didn't deserve…they didn't deserve what happened to them." Octavia is crying in earnest. I put my arms around her awkwardly after Venia glares at her. I nod at Venia over Octavia's head to let her know that it's ok. "They were grabbed in the middle of the night on the way home from a party. Some of us saw it. They just took them right off the street!" I pat her shoulder.

Being freshly scrubbed, moisturized and trimmed does not keep the nightmares at bay. I toss and turn most of the night, with the echo of Octavia's sobbing in my ears, "They were taken right off the street…"

_Bright light. Pain. Distant screams that block out the sound of my own gasping sobs. Through the breathing, I swear I can make out one of the screams. It isn't Johanna – I'm very used to her particular litany of screams and swearing. This voice is new and yet familiar. I hear another scream and realize it's Portia. She's screaming and screaming and screaming. I beg and plead for the screaming to stop, trying to drown it out with screams of my own. Eventually, it does. And the silence is deafening._

Real or Not Real?

I don't know. I haven't been able to put the timeline together, don't know anyone who knows Portia or my team well enough to tell me when they were taken. I don't even know how to tell who came and went while I was held captive. I know that she was killed on live Television after I was rescued. Is it possible that the screams were hers? I hope not. For once, I hope it's Not Real.


	16. Interviews

_**I do not own The Hunger Games.**_

_**Thank you to everyone who is still reading and reviewing. Just a little bit more (probably 2-3 chapters) and I'll be done with this one. I started out really just writing a short backstory before the "back in District 12" pre-epilogue romance I wanted to write. Obviously, the plan got a little derailed! I've enjoyed so much writing a deeper backstory and I hope I have not bored anyone looking for more on the romance angle. I'm disappointed too, sometimes that I haven't delved into that as much.**_

_**Special thanks to Moonmagnet and Rivvien for keeping me from thinking I should abandon the whole thing.**_

_Peeta's POV_

Tigris walks into my prep room and checks over Venia's work. Venia and I had a running joke over the fact that Flavius and Octavia were assigned to go work on Paylor's prep, so Venia is left alone with me. "I guess girls just take more work!" is one of the many quips we trade while she works. Of course I had to make a comment that her speed is because I am so good looking that I don't need much work. I know how ridiculous that is, what with my burn scars and all. I chuckle, but Venia doesn't laugh when I say it.

Despite working alone, her speed is amazing and I am ready ahead of schedule.

Tigris walks in carrying a garment bag. She checks Venia's work, and then dismisses her. Venia stops in front of me and, with a very serious look on her face, takes both of my hands. "Thank you for letting me be part of a day where no one is going to die," she says. She kisses me on the cheek and leaves. I stare after her puzzling out her statement when it hits me: no more Games. This is the first time Venia has prepped someone who isn't going into the Games. _Or going to kill a President. _

Suddenly, it feels like a great day.

There isn't a lot of chitchat with Tigris. When she unzips the garment bag, I give one more thought of _please not a cat print_ up to the universe and take a look: Tigris has put me in black pants and shoes and a white shirt with bold splashes of color across it so it looks like I've been painting all day. The clothes are comfortable and something I could actually paint in. Unlike the suits I've worn on this stage in the past, they don't make me look a day older than the eighteen I am. I stare at the outfit. Tigris' tail starts to twitch.

"That's great." I tell her, and start to get dressed: It takes almost no time to put it on. We both look at my reflection in the mirror and I see why Venia flew through prep: she evened out my skin tone, but other makeup is nonexistent. My hair is tousled like I've been running my fingers through it. The scrub lessened the ridges of scars and my eyebrows have grown in a bit. The resulting look is very young, very natural. It's almost like I dressed myself.

"I look like a kid." I say in surprise and relief. No more faking being something I am not.

Tigris's lips curl in a smile. "You are." She growls in her strange voice and rumples my hair a little more. I smile at her. Before I know it, Effie is knocking lightly on the door and chirping that we need to move, we can't be late. Tigris and I hug again as I thank her for everything. I hope she understands that I mean so much more than the clothes.

It's later and I am backstage at the Training Center before my interview ._How_ _strange it is to be back in_ _this place. _I see Caesar Flickerman backstage. I heard he was surprisingly targeted by neither the Capitol nor the rebels. It doesn't surprise me that Snow didn't take him out – Caesar is beloved in the Capitol after all, but it does surprise me a bit that the rebels didn't kill him for being so involved in packaging the Games. Then again, Snow killed Portia and Cinna and the other prep teams for less. I give a mental shrug: I doubt I will ever understand all of the ins and outs and connections of the rebellion and how Snow decided who lived and who died.

I breathe deeply and then do it again. I remember how nervous I was the last two times I prepped for this – both times thinking I was going to die and needed to make an impression. Haymitch had been there to coach me and remind me of our strategy. There is none of that now. What do I want the world to hear? Who am I? I recall with stunning clarity my wish to remain me; unchanged. I laugh drily. _Yeah, right._

I hear Katniss' voice in my head, "You're a painter. You're a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces." I add: _Your favorite color is orange. Your family is dead. Your Mom hit you. You loved Katniss Everdeen. You risked a beating to give her bread. You were willing to die for her in the arena. You wanted the Capitol to see the berries. You risked dying to warn District 13 about the bombing. You protected Katniss in the Capitol. You voted against a new Hunger Games. You're proud to be making a difference in the new government. You fight the Tracker Jacker venom every day._

Maybe Haymitch was right after our first reaping: he did get a couple of fighters. It wasn't just Katniss fighting and wanting to survive, it was me too. Maybe I loved her, but it was separate from the reality that I had crazy feelings of anger and dissatisfaction with the way things were inside of me. I wanted a better world where kids didn't get hit or reaped, or live in fear that the Capitol would let them starve to death. I protected Katniss because I knew that, with her, things could change: she made me stronger just being by my side.

_I am a rebel._ I chuckle at the realization.

Awhile later, I spot Paylor walking around. At least, I _think___it's Paylor. Dr. Aurelius is with her. "Peeta, hi!" she says as she walks toward me.

"You look great." I am being sincere when I say it. She's wearing an amethyst-colored evening gown that brings out her dark eyes and hair in a way her boxy, blue suits don't. Her makeup and hair are pretty conservative but I can tell from Dr. Aurelius's shell-shocked face that the overall change in her is enough to make him aware of her in a whole new way. I've seen that look on myself enough to recognize it. I grin at them both.

She laughs. "And you look like… yourself. I didn't think that Tigris was going to work out. Wow, was I wrong. I feel like a totally new person!" She laughs again. Dr. Aurelius looks like someone just punched him in the gut every time she laughs, poor guy. _He's a goner_. I wonder if Paylor has any idea that the good doctor is in the middle of an epiphany. Probably not.

"Never underestimate the power of a brilliant stylist." We both laugh. Plutarch walks up to us. He's smiling, so I can feel myself tense up. I can't help it – the guy just sets me on edge.

" Is everyone ready for a big night?" He's like a male version of Effie. Except I _like_ Effie. I wonder what he would do if we said no. He's explaining to us that it will air live and they will edit it to be replayed later as well. The viewing is no longer required, so it's important that we get some good footage, something to really draw people in and make them want to watch. After being involved in the carnage of the Games and rebellion, I wonder what he thinks is really going to appeal to the crowd. I quickly decide I don't want to know what really goes on in Plutarch's brain.

He's turned to me and he looks a little upset. "Peeta, you look a little casually dressed for this interview. I told Tigris we really had to hold the crowd's attention." I shrug. I trust Tigris to know what she's doing and it's too late to change now.

"I think he looks adorable, "Paylor says. _Adorable?_ I can feel my face get red. _Ugh. When am I going to stop blushing? _

Plutarch cheers up considerably and says, "I suppose we can do an interview with Gale Hawthorne in District 2 for our next installment in the series. He's always been so photogenic and will guarantee a certain audience." _Ouch._ My scars don't bother me, unless I am being compared to the unscarred, handsome and whole Gale Hawthorne.I do not need a reminder that I cannot compete with that. _Plutarch really is a piece of work. _"Well, good luck everyone! I know whatever footage we get will be great." And he breezes out to his place in the special box kept for the Gamemakers. I know that box will also have Paylor in it later, while Tigris, Dr. Aurelius and the prep team are in a prep team box.

I hate how much it reminds me of the Games.

Before I realize it, we are through Caesar's crowd warm-up and Paylor is on stage. The crowd in the Capitol loves that she is beautiful tonight. The districts and Dr. Aurelius both love how smart and together she sounds. Like there is a plan. Like the new government knows what it is doing. The footage behind her is of the revitalization efforts and I notice they are careful to show each district. Paylor does highlights on each effort and ends with the Capitol. She doesn't sugar-coat things, but she also makes sure that she highlights the good things that are happening all over. I hear her say we need to learn from the past and avoid the same mistakes by working together. There is clapping and she is up and waving and off stage, passing by me and squeezing my hand.

I hear Caesar introduce me, through the pounding of my own pulse. I hear him thanking me for my bravery and my sacrifice. _Didn't Snow say something similar when he welcomed tributes?_ I wipe my hands on my pants once and make my way onstage, all smiles and waves despite my nerves. The crowd, although not as large as that prior to my Games, welcomes me warmly. I hear people screaming my name, blowing kisses and waving. I shake Caesar's hand and sit down.

"So Peeta," Caesar starts, "You've had quite a year: Quell, rescue, rebellion…

I cut in, chuckling and pointing to my forehead, "And I've got the scars to prove it!" Let them focus right in on the scars. This isn't a beautiful victor where the evidence is wiped clean. This is my face, with the scars from the last year still healing.

Laughter from the audience, a chuckle from Caesar and he continues…"yes, it's been quite a year for you. Is there anything you are particularly thankful for?"

I look him in the eyes and go for another laugh. "Yeah. I'm thankful that I don't still smell like roses." The audience laughs even louder, getting the reference to Snow's regime.

Caesar laughs and pats me on the leg saying, "You're not the only one." He pauses. "I am sure your prep team had something to do with that tonight. This is a different look for you. You look…young."

I wave at my prep team and Tigris. The prep team looks uncomfortable. Tigris just smirks. In that moment, she reminds me of Prim's cat, Buttercup. "I think that was the point, Caesar. This is who I am honestly and truly. I think we all felt it was time to stop lying to one another. We need to stop playing Games." I think I see Tigris' long whiskers actually twitch at that reference. I remember her staring at my drawings and seeing me as the boy who doodled Katniss' face in History class. Imagining me painting not out of therapy, but out of sheer enjoyment.

"Well, kudos to them for showing us who you really are." He stands and motions to them in recognition. They stand and wave at the crowd, who is cheering for them jubilantly. I see Venia, Octavia and Flavius standing straighter than they have in the past week, a real look of happiness on their faces. Maybe they will get something of themselves back eventually. The crowd quiets as Caesar takes a seat.

"We were all very touched when you saved Katniss in the Capitol Center, and then again during the assassination. Especially after being hijacked, what was going through your head during those events?"

I know how I handle this question is critical: if I show the country how conflicted I am about Katniss, they may not be as sympathetic toward her as they have been. I need them to continue to keep her safe. I do know that I wouldn't abandon her anyway. "I wanted to keep her safe. Get her out of harm's way. She's been through just as much as I have, and I couldn't let anything bad happen to her."

I'm grateful that they aren't showing images of those children exploding or of me racing toward Katniss, trying to get her out of harm's way. They are showing the mayhem after Coin's shooting and me grabbing Katniss right afterward. It looks like I am holding her so that the Peacekeepers can arrive. I look at my hands, refusing to put into words that I was keeping her from taking a pill that would end her life. I cannot tell the whole country that, in the end, she was willing to let Snow win.

I hear some snuffles and sighs from the crowd. They are rapt hearing me talk about her. I want to shake my head because they think we are still the Star-Crossed Lovers from District 12.

"It's been a long and difficult road for you. How did you get where you are today?" Caesar asks. I wonder if he means therapy or if he left it more generic on purpose. I could talk about almost anything with a question like that.

"I realized recently that being a rebel just means wanting to change something. If I look at it that way, I've wanted to change something about my life from almost the very beginning. Growing up in 12, you see a lot of kids starving. It hit home for me when Katniss was starving. I knew my Mother didn't want to help her. If she had wanted to help, she would have already. I knew I couldn't just let Katniss starve, so I made a choice: exchange physical punishment to help Katniss. It may not sound like much, but my Mom packed a real wallop. That was my very first act of rebellion. I think we all have a story like that – something we wanted to change, but didn't feel like we could directly. So we took an indirect route and fought in other ways."

"There were other acts like that along the way: sneaking into Katniss's room on the train just to irk Effie and Haymitch…"when the audience titters at that, I sheepishly add, "hey, I was 16, remember?" and flash a smile. I add, "Giving some of our winnings to Thresh and Rue's family was a big one. Not wanting my family to live with me in the Victor's Village…these were all choices I made. Some were good choices, some were bad. If I had let them live with me, my family might be alive today. We all made choices like that. The trick is to learn when to stop fighting and when to move on; learn to survive and to be happy. " I look at my hands again and clear my throat. The audience is so quiet I can hear my own heartbeat.

Caesar asks the only question I was sure he would ask, "So what is next for you, Peeta?"

The conviction I feel is strong and very clear. "I am going back to District 12. We will rebuild and I will continue the legacy of my Father and become a Baker. I know it sounds silly, but I think we each need to find the legacy we have left to us and live the best life we can with it to honor those we lost. We each experienced loss. We have to make those losses count by forgiving each other." I break for a moment and lean into the conversation. "Caesar, can I tell you a secret?"

He laughs. We've played this game before. "Yes, of course."

"_We are all the Mockingjay. _Dr. Aurelius helped me understand that. We all have the potential and need to move on and adapt, just like the Mockingjay. We all want to be happy. The first step to doing that is forgiveness, especially if it means forgiving ourselves."

Caesar lets the crowd think on that for a minute and I lean back in my chair.

"I think I speak for everyone when I say thank you for sharing with us. I know we're all dying to know this here in the Capitol: Do you think that you and Katniss will reunite and what are the chances you will try for another baby?"

My smile falters only slightly. I want, no I have to keep the answer short. I can already feel my nails digging into my palms. "Remember what I said about forgiveness? Well that counts for Katniss and me too."

I can hear the bees buzzing in my head saying, "Baby, baby, what about the baby..." like a chant. I have to get off the stage before I lose it completely. _Fight it, Peeta. Fight it. Stay with me. Stay. _ I breathe deeply and it's enough that I can hold myself together while Caesar wishes me all the best of luck. I stand and wave, then walk offstage to let the attack take me.

(Geeky A/N: When proofing this story, I realized that Peeta almost comes out and says with conviction, "I am a Baker, like my Father before me." insert reading in your best Return of the Jedi voice )


	17. The Exhibit

_**I do not own The Hunger Games.**_

_**One more chapter to go after this one!**_

_Peeta's POV_

I'm at the exhibit, still shaking from the effects of the attack. Being in the Training Center again is weird, especially because I can see the remnants of my painting on the floor that even cleaning solutions couldn't dissolve. I swear, I can smell the sweat of every dead tribute who ever trained here. Combine the after effects of the attack and the memories, and being here is like visiting the scene of my own murder. Avoxes are circulating with trays of drinks and food. Every time someone offers me a glass I decline. As shaky as I feel right now, I don't think alcohol is going to help me stay in control.

People are greeting me left and right; congratulating me on the paintings, on the interview, on being alive. Venia, Flavius and Octavia giddily descend upon me. They hug and kiss me, telling me how great I looked. I somewhat sarcastically tell them that I am only a hunk thanks to their efforts. I can tell Octavia is a little tipsy when she blushes prettily at my compliment instead of detecting the sarcasm. Venia rolls her eyes behind Octavia's back at me and we share a little silent laugh.

They all give me air kisses and say goodbye except for Venia. She leans in and says quietly, "What you said back there… did you mean it? About all of us being the Mockingjay?"

I look her steadily in the eye. "Do I look particularly strong to you, Venia? Or smart?" She pauses a moment and then shakes her head. "No. That's because I'm not. I'm a kid. Katniss is a kid. And yet, I think you would say that we both adapted and learned to survive two Games and a rebellion." I snort. "We may even find out how to be happy again – to sing again – like the Mockingjay. _Every one of us can do that._" I say vehemently.

"Even us?" She motions to her tipsy companions. "It's never going to be like it used to be."

"No, it's not." I pause, "It's going to be even better. You have to believe that... and in yourself. After all, who made the burnt-up crippled kid look like a hunk in front of all Panem? You can do _anything_." She smiles a small, hopeful smile. I hug her.

While we're hugging, she whispers so quietly I almost don't hear her, "Peeta, make Katniss believe again." I smile back much more confidently than I feel. After my conversation with Haymitch, I don't know what shape Katniss is in, never mind how I am going to be able to reach her.

I am standing in front of the painting I call "Katniss Up a Tree" and nibbling on some fruit on a skewer sometime later when I hear the purposeful click-click of Paylor's approaching footsteps. I feel her stop next to me, staring at the same painting. She says, "I wonder what she's thinking."

"She was thinking about whether or not I was really trying to kill her."

Paylor shakes her head. "No. I mean what she's thinking _now_. Right now. Do you think she knows you're going back to 12?"

I turn to Paylor. "No. Unless Haymitch told her, which I doubt. He's not really the sharing type." I motion to the painting, "If he didn't tell her then, he's not going to tell her now."

"When are you leaving?" Her eyebrows furrow. She motions for me to follow her, so we walk to another painting. This one is Paylor's portrait.

"I'm not sure. Soon." I think again of Haymitch's voice telling me to come soon.

"I was going to ask you to be involved in a project here in the Capitol. If you're leaving soon, I don't think I should bring it up."

I raise an eyebrow. "What kind of project?"

"Did you see the children in the audience tonight?" I shake my head. I was too nervous to see much past the end of the stage. "There were some sitting together. They were all wearing 'We Wanna Be Like Peeta' shirts." I shake my head again, since it's not ringing any bells. "They were all either burn victims or amputees; some from the districts who live in the Capitol now and some from the Capitol from... before. They really look up to you – you're their recovery role model."

I grimace. _That's horrible. _"Where did they get the shirts?" Before the question is out of my mouth I know the answer. _Plutarch. _I bet he wanted to include some shots of the Capitol survivors really supporting their Victor to get sympathy from viewers.

Paylor grimaces too. "I don't know. I was thinking, though, that you might start some sort of program for those kids… really get involved with them. Guide them back. But now that you're going back to 12…" She trails off. There's not much else to say on that topic: it sounds like something I would want to be involved in, old Peeta would get involved in a heartbeat, but I am going back to 12.

She pauses a little bit and then turns to her painting and bumps me with her shoulder. "Hey, I know. Maybe I'll send them all to 12 and you can start some sort of baker's apprentice thing. What do you say?" We laugh.

We both stare at her portrait for a bit. I'm admiring the way the red walls complement the colors in the painting and I almost miss Paylor say more seriously, "I added a little something to the portrait." She points down to the corner, near my signature. It's hard to see from where we are standing, so I crowd right up to it. Right next to where it says 'Peeta Mellark' there is a spot of yellow. Upon closer examination, that spot has a shape – it's a 5 petal flower. It takes me a second to realize that it's a Primrose.

She chuckles lightly, "Please don't be mad that I can't draw."

I turn to look at her, our new President. She is vibrant and alive in this moment, still lovely in her amethyst gown. I am just about to ask her about the meaning of her addition to the painting when I see Dr. Aurelius striding toward us. _I knew he couldn't stay away for long._

"Peeta, how are you feeling?" Dr. Aurelius asks.

"I'm better than I was earlier. We were just talking about my departure for 12." Paylor and Dr. Aurelius share a look. _They_ share _looks now? How did I miss this? _

Dr. Aurelius turns back to me and says, "Peeta, the roof has a lovely view. Why don't all we go up there, since we probably won't have the opportunity again?" I nod. It doesn't escape my notice that Dr. Aurelius puts his hand on the small of Paylor's back. I smile to myself. _Yep. The guy is a goner._

The roof is very cool and I wonder how long it's going to take for Dr. Aurelius to offer his jacket to Paylor. I lay a private bet in my head that it won't take longer than five minutes and begin the clock countdown in my head. We're staring at the square, which is quiet and so unlike my other visits to this roof. I wonder that the new president needs to have a private conversation up on the roof. _Isn't all of this supposed to be over and done with?_

Paylor must see some of this on my face, so she begins by telling me, "Plutarch is filming downstairs. He wants footage and sound bites to use for programming. I didn't want to say too much…" She seems embarrassed that she has to resort to this tactic.

I shrug. "It's ok. I'm sure this roof has been privy to a lot of private conversations."

"Ok. Well, I wanted to tell you that…" she clears her throat and I wonder if she prepared speech in advance, "I'll keep them safe. Panem's children. I think about the Hunger Games vote a lot and I want you to know that I vow never, ever during my presidency will I allow children to be misused that way. Prim's sacrifice, and the sacrifice of all of those other children, will not be in vain." I look at her and I don't think I've ever seen her more serious than she is right now. I nod gravely to let her know that I realize how sincere she is being. "You have my word, Peeta. That addition to your painting is a symbol of my vow to you."

She is making a promise to an eighteen year old boy. It's totally unnecessary, but she's doing it anyway. I open my mouth to say something in response but she cuts me off.

"Their sacrifice will not be in vain and neither should yours and Katniss's. Boggs and I made a promise that you should live a long life. After all you've been through, you deserve it. We'll try to keep Plutarch out of your district for as long as we can…it's one of the reasons that we presented Katniss as crazy: so that she could live a private life if she wanted. We felt we owed her that. We owe you both that."

I blink a couple of times. _So the trial, it was all a set up?_ I want to ask the question out loud but can't seem to form the words. Dr. Aurelius is stepping toward me with something in his hand.

"Peeta, we want you to have this. Especially in light of your interview tonight, we think it's appropriate." He hands me a something small and shiny. When I open my hand, I realize it is the Mockingjay pin. It is Katniss's token. I stare at it uncomprehendingly. _Katniss wearing it on the train to our first Games. Katniss wearing it in the arenas. Katniss wearing it right over her heart when we voted on the new Hunger Games the day she shot Coin._ The memory that is holding me right on the verge of an attack is the feel of it against my chest in the cave while we held each other in the sleeping bag. _While she was trying to kill me. _I fight that last thought because I know it's not real. _I know it._

Dr. Aurelius continues talking, "You are whole, Peeta. You may not be the same as you were before – none of us are - but you are whole. All the pieces are there, they are just in a different configuration. Perhaps a better one. It is a choice to be the Mockingjay and go on when no one believes you can, or when no one has a use for you anymore."

Paylor closes my hands around the pin. "Make the choice to stay whole. Live a long life, full of happiness." I look down at my hand and then up at their faces which are streaky through my unshed tears. I take a deep breath and then another, ready to tell them how much their faith in me means.

Just as I am opening my mouth to say something, Plutarch slams open the roof door. "There are my stars!" Paylor has let go of my hand and stepped back. He staggers drunkenly as he makes his way over to us. _I really hate this guy. _I see Paylor and Dr. Aurelius exchange another look of concern. They must know how much I really am not in the mood to talk to Plutarch.

Plutarch can't seem to stop bubbling about all the great footage he's gotten and how great the interviews were. I'm barely listening until I hear him say something about Caesar's last question: the one that triggered an attack.

I'm suddenly seething, "You knew he was going to ask that question, didn't you? About Katniss and I… Katniss and I getting back together?" I can't even say the word 'baby'. "You knew it might trigger an attack, but you let him include it anyway. Did you get a close up of my face? I bet you thought it would be great footage either way?" I sneer. Plutarch looks blankly at me, but I continue anyway. "Just like the clock arena was great footage. Did you get a close up of Katniss in the Capitol when her sister exploded?" I'm yelling.

Plutarch starts to stammer. He's telling me that it was great footage in the Capitol center. "All those children just corralled there, overnight, in the cold, being used as a human shield. No matter what happened, we knew we had the Capitol's sympathy. It was a great series of shots. The girl," I notice he can't say her name. _Does he even know it?_ "She was collateral damage."

"You knew about the parachutes! You knew!" I'm yelling and breathing so hard it's like I am running from mutts in the arena.

"We thought it would have great effect – and it was. It immediately brought an end to the war. It played even better because you and the Mockingjay were there to try to help the children." He sounds so pleased with himself. _Pompous, arrogant…_there are no words for how much I despise him.

I find myself gripping the Mockingjay pin so hard that I think I'm bending it. "Did you leave me there during the Quarter Quell to die? Was that your plan all along, even if you had more time during the rescues?" My voice is quiet when I ask this. I am still breathing hard, though. If Plutarch were smarter, he would pick up on that fact.

"Haymitch wanted both of you. Coin and I agreed that we really only needed one of you: that it would play better, actually, to have one of you and not the other. Capture one of you grieving but moving on and fighting for the rebellion, that sort of thing. Coin and I wanted you to be the one we rescued but we couldn't locate you, so we took Katniss instea—"

I punch him with all of my might, still gripping the Mockingjay pin. I can feel the pin cut the skin of my palm even as my fist connects with his jaw. The sound of his teeth snapping together as his head jerks back is the most satisfying sound I've heard since he started talking. He staggers against the edging on the outside of the roof, and then falls to the floor semi-conscious. I take a step toward him to do more damage when Dr. Aurelius puts a quieting hand on my arm.

Paylor manages to get Plutarch onto his feet. She throws his arm over her shoulder like he's an injured soldier and begins to half walk, half drag him to the door. When she reaches it, she pauses and shoots me a look. "Peeta, remember what I said earlier: we'll hold him off as much and for as long as we can."

_Paylor is right that he won't have any qualms about visiting 12 and filming us again, turning us into some sort of freak-show programming._ _If it's a slow news day, we had better be ready for him. We are all interchangeable and expendable to him; just pieces on a game board; just a source of good programming._

I want to hit him again.


	18. The Way Home

_**I do not own The Hunger Games.**_

_Peeta's POV_

"Well, that was unfortunate." Dr. Aurelius says.

"He deserved it." I say, defensively.

Dr. Aurelius sighs loudly. "You may believe that to be true, Peeta. He did, however, save your life."

"He also sacrificed it and made a spectacle of it," I vehemently point out. I'm still so incensed that I swear I could breathe fire. _Fire. Just like the girl on fire. Katniss. _The shaking of my hands takes on new meaning as I fight another attack. As I fight it, I wonder if she felt like this all the time; distrustful and on edge. Like every conversation was a fight and every fight was to the death. I hear her voice again "_Stay with me". _It slowly brings me back to myself.

Dr. Aurelius assesses me. "You are fighting them so much better now. It only takes minutes to recover."

"Good thing, since they're coming so fast." I say wryly. I am out of breath. He motions for me to follow him and we walk to a garden area. It's filled with wind chimes and flowers and grass. It's lovely. I sink gratefully down onto a bench and start rubbing my leg, leaning my head back and closing my eyes to listen to the chimes. The breeze whispers through them and the tinkling of the chimes slows my pulse almost back to normal.

"Peeta, do you remember this place?" My eyes pop open and I look around me. I shake my head. "No recollection at all?" I do the same drill and shake my head again. _What's he hunting for?_

"Should I remember it?"

Dr. Aurelius sighs again. "Yes. This place should remind you of Katniss." His brow furrows in thought.

I shrug. "No, nothing." I pause. "Why would you bring me here right after an attack if you thought it would remind me of Katniss?"

Dr. Aurelius sits down next to me. "I wanted to talk to you about your return to your district."

"It can't wait until tomorrow?"

"Peeta, you just punched the Secretary of Communications. I think we should consider that you may want to depart somewhat sooner rather than later."

"Paylor would have me arrested?" I hadn't considered that when I used Plutarch as a punching bag.

Dr. Aurelius laughs. "I doubt it. But Plutarch will make your life uncomfortable now that you have drawn attention to yourself. Stay here and he may put a film crew in the mansion, leave in a few days and he will probably follow you so he can do a piece on the Victor's return home. Or you can steal away quietly in the dark of night." It's unspoken that Dr. Aurelius means tonight.

_Damn._ I flex my bruised hand, wishing I could smash it against Plutarch's face again. "Do you think I'm ready to face it?" By _it_ I really mean _her._

I think you need to face the district and you will get through it after an initial shock. Katniss… well, I am not sure." His brow furrows as he thinks. "You are stronger than you were and your recovery during attacks shows great promise."

"But it's still risky, isn't it?" I'm doubtful now. _What if I'm not strong enough?_

He acknowledges my question with a slight nod of his head. "Peeta, we gave you that pin so that, if things got rough, you would remember that you're not alone. Remember all of the good things that people have done for you. Remember that you can adapt and change. And so can Katniss."

"She can. But will she? She's really stubborn." I'm suddenly doubtful of any plan I might have. What if she is too far away to reach?

"Katniss has a tremendous desire to survive. You can count on that."

"But what's going to reach her? What if she is too far gone to listen?"

"Perhaps you should look to your Games for a tactic: in your first Games, how did you protect her?"

I say it like it's someone else's life I have studied in school, "I joined the careers."

"You became what she thought was her enemy. How did that make her feel?"

"She hated me. "

"You kept her safe by acting like her enemy. You may need to do something similar now because she may not listen to you any other way. Can you do that?"

I think for a minute before answering. "If I can make her angry enough to fight me, she'll have a chance, won't she?"

Dr. Aurelius nods. "That's my thinking."

"It also has the added bonus of building in some space. We won't have to spend every minute together. She won't need to pretend to care about me and we can finally drop the Star-Crossed Lovers thing."

The quietly assessing look is back on Dr. Aurelius' face. "Peeta, you both have a tremendous capacity for love. It actually trumps your need to survive. Think about the reaping and how she volunteered. Think about how you protected her and vice versa. I know that you believe you aren't in love with her. Promise that, if you get a chance to get closer to each other, you'll consider taking it."

"She didn't love me the way I deserve to be loved."

"I'm not debating that. The point of this exercise it to move on and start anew. I am saying that you shouldn't use the past as a predictor for the future. He sees the doubtful look on my face. "All I am saying is don't close yourself off from the opportunity." He asks to see my hand. After checking it out to make sure nothing is broken, we sit quietly, listening to the wind chimes.

"I'll send some supplies to you – they should be there on the next train after yours. Is there anything you want me to include?" I give him my list: stuff from my room, baking supplies, foods I like, painting and drawing supplies. I ask for a length of rope.

"Rope?"

"Yeah. Maybe this long." I hold up my hands to demonstrate. "It's to practice my knots. In case I need something to help me stay in control." Dr. Aurelius nods.

"I will call you each morning for the first week, just to check in. We will assess how things are going and change our plans as needed. If you need me more frequently, call the number on the card." Dr. Aurelius hands me a business card. I slide it into my pocket next to the Mockingjay pin. "See if you can get Katniss to call me. I can't keep covering for her if she never picks up the telephone." I nod.

Dr. Aurelius tiredly rubs the bridge of his nose. "We should get you to the train station."

I stop him from standing. "I want to thank you for everything you've done. You and the President have been great. I hope she doesn't think that I acted out of line tonight."

"Brinna is very attached to you and is well aware of the downside of Plutarch's enthusiasm." _Brinna? Paylor's first name is Brinna? And Dr. Aurelius uses it? "_And, Peeta, we'll talk again. It's not as if we'll never speak." He pats my knee and stands up. I follow.

The train is hurtling me towards my fate at 200 miles per hour. I have a day and a half to ready myself for whatever awaits me.

It feels like going back into the arena. I don't know what pods are waiting to trigger. I don't know how she will react to me nor I to her. Whereas I played at being her enemy before, I know myself well enough to realize that a part of me is still a mutt who can't be trusted completely around her. Despite my recent preparation, I may not be strong enough to hold myself back. Just like in my Games, it's time to fight whether I am ready or not.

I'm oddly energized and no longer afraid.

_Stay alive_. _Find high ground and assess the situation. Protect Katniss._

I've got two mentors: I am counting on Haymitch to keep us from killing each other and Dr. Aurelius to keep me sane. I have my District Token – the one that used to be hers. I've got a President as a sponsor. _The odds may finally be in my favor._

The train pulls into the station. I am home.

-The End-

(A/N: Thank you all for taking this journey with me - it's been an incredible one. I am still debating writing the love story that this was mean to foreshadow: it's been done so well and so frequently that I am concerned I won't have anything good to add! I have a companion story to this - it weaves into this story and covers Paylor and Aurelius - called Building the Dream.)

I hope you enjoyed what you've read. If you have any feedback, I would love to hear it.


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